


Paradisiac

by apreciouspixie



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: (and for all i hope its worth this is a beautiful fic), (this is a fic about love), (this isnt a fic about sex at all), Anal Sex, Bottom Louis, Highschooler!Louis, Indie Band!Harry, It all happens over a single day, M/M, Music, Paris (City), Top Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-21 14:14:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 73,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4832141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apreciouspixie/pseuds/apreciouspixie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>          <i>“I feel like,” -he inhaled and exhaled deeply- “Like any moment now, the houses could start collapsing; exploding and falling in on themselves, until we, you and I, we were the only two people left in the world. Like all the people in this house, at this very moment, too, could disappear, like this house could collapse, too, but we’d stay elevated above the ground, watching everything beneath us burn and fade away,” –there was another long pause, and Harry never figured out how long it might have lasted, but he knew for a fact he did not breathe the entire time – “Do you feel like that, too?” he finally asked, and his eyes met Harry’s in the reflection of the window, and Harry felt like he had never seen Louis before now; like he had not really seen him.</i><br/>-<br/>          Louis runs away from his home, and right into Harry. They meet on a train travelling 300 km/h to Paris.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Wow. I have barely anything else to say. This has been in the works for just under a year, and I can hardly believe it is finally happening.
> 
> I want to thank [Pinja](http://riphaerry.tumblr.com/) and [Arpana](http://dandyhaz.tumblr.com/) above everyone else - this story is for You two, the best betas I could ever dream of - one day I'll make You do this to an actual book of mine.  
> But besides them, there have been so many people who've encouraged me, helped me, given me advice, told me something was incredible, told me something sucked, laughed at me, laughed with me, cried with me, cried because of me, and so on, and so on, and so on. I thank all of You from the deepest pits of my heart.
> 
> Please, enjoy.

The cool night air hit his face like a slap as he stepped onto the front porch of his home. Louis was willing himself not to cry, but feeling his childhood slip away with nothing to hold onto it with, he could not help but blink as the tears slipped down from his eyes to his cheeks. He wiped them as soon as they fell and stepped out onto the street. He checked his phone and saw that it was just before six in the morning, meaning he had just enough time to get to the bus stop—

 

Harry opened his eyes, realised what a horrible mistake that had been, and closed them again. By how hard whatever below him was, he supposed he had fallen asleep on the floor.

Keeping his eyes closed, he tried to frown, but having to move his facial muscles caused so much pain that he stopped that immediately, throwing a hand over his eyes and groaning.

When did it get so light outside?—

 

The ordeal had begun all the way back in September, when Louis realised his grades had dropped severely over the last few months, but could not bring himself to care. Not long after, he stopped going out, preferring the company of his little sisters at home and the old ladies at the nursing home he helped out at. Any free time besides that he spent cleaning the house and reading copious amounts of either romance novels or comic books.

He realised shortly after that he wanted to leave Doncaster, and not for a few weeks like he did every summer to spend time with his grandparents, but for good. He needed to get out and do something with his life.

He began spending hours in front of his bedroom mirror (no one but him understood why a seventeen year-old boy would need a floor to ceiling mirror in his bedroom), listing reasons to stay and reasons to leave, to see which reasons outweighed the others.

At first, the debate was quite even, but after he managed to fail the same physics exam three times in a row, the arguments on the stay side seemed to vanish. He was sure, then. He would leave; but not until he had saved up enough money to actually get somewhere, and had spent the remaining time he had there being the best son and big brother in the world. After all, the only thing keeping him there other than money was his family.

By March he had the money, now all he needed was the right night—

 

Harry wondered what time it was. Could not have been too early; it was April after all, it should not have been this light outside at five am, and as far as he was concerned, he most likely only fell asleep at about five am. Warily, he lifted his hand just a little and peered through his eyelashes. He could not see anything but the ceiling without turning his head, but turning his head was something he was not prepared to do just yet.

So he let himself lie there for another five minutes, opening his eyes every once in a while to get them used to the light. Finally, when he could keep his eyes open for longer than twenty seconds, he, slow as a slug, slid his hands under his back and lifted himself on his arse, ignoring the knives being thrown at his brain every two milliseconds.

He groaned again, partially because - how could sitting up take so much effort? - and partially because he wanted to test his voice. He smiled, then, as the sound reached his ears. His voice sounded like what he would have imagined a wounded grizzly mating call would sound like. Terrifyingly horrible, in other words. In the back of his brain, he could hear himself (in his normal voice, thank you very much) nagging about how he had to sing in front of people in about forty hours, but he kept it there, at the back of his head, and thought instead about how he would get up without killing himself—

 

The right night came a month later, after a rainy, grey school day just like any other. Nothing in particular happened; Louis ate his breakfast in the morning, spent the average six hours at school, did a few 80-year-olds’ beds, played with the twins, and went to sleep. But he did all that knowing it would be the last time he did it, at least for a while.

Surprisingly, none of the activities felt any more special, or better. They felt like they always did, annoying and great and generally dull, like everything in his life.

He finally did feel something, however, when he woke up at five am after having slept four and a half hours, and began stuffing his backpack with clothes and money and random objects he thought he might need. The day before, he had looked up the time the bus would leave at school, that being the only thing he ever looked up concerning his leaving home.

Once he was out of Doncaster, he decided, he would do whatever he wanted—

 

Harry pulled himself on his knees first, actually grateful for the hard, wooden floor hurting them, as it pulled the focus off his head. He stayed like that, looking around.

 _At least I’m still in Niall’s flat_ , he thought, blinking slowly a few times and sighing loudly as he shuffled to the kitchen counter a few metres off. He gripped the edge of the counter as tightly as he could with his fingers feeling like ramen, and inhaling harshly, he pulled himself up to the soundtrack of each and every joint in his body cracking.

 He stood like that for a while, hands gripping the counter and chest heaving, and then, slowly as ever, made his way to the kitchen sink. Turning the tap, he set the water to the coldest setting, and squeezed his face under the faucet, letting the icy cold water flow all over his face and into his mouth, and then his whole head, wetting his hair and relieving the feeling of absolute death a little bit—

 

Louis finished packing some sandwiches and after fitting them in the bag without too many casualties, he was ready. For a moment he felt the pull to go see his mum and sisters once more, but he knew he couldn’t risk waking them up. He had made so much noise already, he was surprised his mother was even still asleep—

 

After hitting his head on the tap despite his extreme care, Harry left the water on and took a glass from the cupboard overhead. Well, it was a jar, but he had to make do because it was the only thing unused.

He filled it with water and drank it dropless within seconds. Then he filled it with water and drank it empty once more. The third time he filled it with water, he only took a sip, a plan forming in his head—

 

There was nothing more for Louis to do. That was it. Throwing his bag over his shoulder he walked to the hall, pulled on a hat and his shoes and opened the door.

Walking to the station, he tried his best to ignore the streets, and the houses, and the trees he passed, and how he could have told a story about at least half of them.

As he passed his school, he stopped for a second, unable to go on without sparing a glance at the large building. It was quiet and dark, desolate, even, but Louis knew it would be buzzing with life in just a couple hours.  
He wondered how his friends would react when they found out. He wondered who would be the first to realise something was off.

Shuddering, as if shaking the thought off, he turned back to the street and walked on. He promised he would allow himself no more stops or even glances of the road straight ahead.

When he reached the bus stop, there was some time to go until the departure, but the bus was already waiting, engine turned off. Louis had a wee in the over-lit, smelly bus station loo. As he was washing his hands, a man in his late fifties, maybe, entered, lit cigarette hanging from his lips, another one hooked behind his ear. He spared Louis a glance as he walked past him. A whiff of sweaty smelling air reached Louis’ nose, but before he knew it the man was gone behind the stall door, and Louis himself was out of the toilet—

 

Harry turned around, feeling better, like maybe he would actually be alive for the next day’s concert, and walked back into the livingroom area. Glancing back at the kitchen for a moment, he noticed a phone on the desk. His phone, to be exact. He let out a small victorious noise and snatched it. It was on rare occasions only he was lucky enough to find his phone so quickly after a party.

Ten minutes to go ‘till nine, the clock told him, meaning Harry had to find Niall, wake him up, force him to help him find his things scattered about the flat, refrain from being a good friend and making him breakfast - Niall most definitely did not deserve that at the moment - and get to his own home, as fast as possible.

He found Niall on the ground in front of his bed and some girl, - Barbara, - Harry remembered, lying with her body over Niall’s sideways. Not wanting to disturb the innocent girl’s slumber, Harry set down the jar of water and gently lifted her off Niall. She groaned a little, but Harry managed to lay her down on the empty bed without waking her. Then, he was back to his plan.

He took the jar from the ground and stood next to Niall’s face, shaking his head slowly.  
                   “I wish I was sorry,” he whispered, before turning the jars open side towards the ground, emptying the jar of ice cold water on Niall—

 

Louis was the first to get on the bus. The driver gave him a look, and if Louis’ knowledge of adult behaviour was anything to go by (which it was not) he almost said something, too, but Louis was already facing away from him, finding a nice, empty seat. It hit him how suspicious he, an obvious minor, must have looked, at six am on a bus leaving to London, alone. Not that he could be arsed to do anything about it. He needed this.

He took his seat and immediately threw off his shoes, settling his feet on the seat next to his. He slipped his earphones in and made a pillow for himself out of his beanie. He was asleep before he realised what song was on.

When Louis woke about half an hour later, it was to the hot, pungent smell of a cigar burning close by. The thought seemed absurd, as Louis remembered he was in a bus, but the smell was too strong to deny it. As his eyes accustomed to the dimness he began to see trickles of smoke rising from the seat in front of his, too—

 

Niall was on his feet before he opened his eyes. When he did open them, his mouth dropped open, too, letting out the most blood-curdling, soul-ripping scream Harry had heard in a while, if not in his life. (Harry realised, then, that saving poor Barbara from the water had been quite pointless, as there was no way anyone in the flat could resume sleeping after that scream.)

He watched, amused, as Niall dumbfoundedly twirled around, trying to get his brain to work. Finally, when he looked like he was going to pass out any second, Harry gripped his shoulder and steadied him, unable not to laugh. Niall gawked at him, blinking slowly once or twice, before his vision cleared enough that he could see Harry’s face.

He opened his mouth slowly, and after a second let out a low, rough sound, his expression shaping into a question. Harry knew this was his way of yelling at Harry for being a god-awful friend; at least until he got a pain killer and some beer—

 

Louis sat up straight, paying no mind to his hat falling to the floor, and leant up over the chair in front of him. Sure enough, there was a man, sitting with his head back on the seat, a thick, smelly cigar stuck in his mouth. Louis’ recognised him as the one from the bus station toilet. That put him off a little, but as another puff of smoke hit Louis he coughed, causing the man to open his eyes and look at Louis.

                   “Huh?” he asked, taking the cigar between his fingers and breathing the smoke out, right into Louis’ face. Louis coughed again.  
                   “I’m sorry, but I don’t think it’s allowed to smoke on the bus.” he stammered through the sentence, digging his palms into the rough seat cushion. 

The man scoffed, taking another drag from his cigar. He did not answer for a while, giving Louis time to examine his face. His eyes were so deep in his face Louis wondered exactly how old he was. Suddenly, he was blowing smoke in Louis’ face once more.  
                   “And little kiddos like you en’t allowed to ride about the country like that, alone.” he huffed, voice low and throaty, “Does your Mum know you’re here?” he chuckled and coughed, pulling another drag from the cigar. Louis knew that was his opportunity to sit back, but he did not move, cursing himself when the man spoke up again—

 

Harry dragged Niall to the kitchen and sat him down on one of the stools, after mopping off a puddle of unidentified liquid from it. Having taken the jar he had used to wake Niall up with him, he held it under the faucet and let water pour into it once more, before setting it down gently in front of Niall, who took it with a shaky hand and downed it in one go. He set a beer in front of him too, surprised there were any left as he took it from the fridge, but supposing the guests knew Niall well enough to leave some for the morning. As far as he knew none of them were suicidal.

After having set the things down, Harry leaned over the desk, and staring deeply into his friend’s tired, hungover eyes, stated, matter-of-factly:   
                   “It’s nine o’clock, Ni. I need to find my computer, my bag,” –he paused, thinking it through- “and my uke as fast as possible,” –another pause, for the effect- “And you’re going to help me.”

Niall nodded and took a sip of his beer. He wiped the foam moustache off and stood up slowly, scratching his arse. He was grimacing, but Harry patted him on the back and gave him a reassuring look. The quicker we get this done, the quicker you get to go back to sleep, it seemed to say. Niall groaned, and without a word, began to make his way towards the back of the living room—

 

                   “Don’t think I don’t know why you’re here. You got sick and tired of school and thought you could just piss off, didn’t you, selfish little prick.” The man laughed with his mouth closed, air leaving his nose in puffs. “You might think you’re special, but you’ll be running back to Mummy before you know it, child.”

Louis fishmouthed for a moment, stranded in his position, and moved back to his seat. With shaky hands, he got his beanie from the ground and pushed it between the cold window and his head.

His eyes were heavy with liquid. He realised just how stupid, how utterly childish his plan was. How stupid had he been for thinking he could get away with it, thinking no one would realise? How irresponsible was he being, leaving home like that, with no care for his family and friends, or education, or anything? He could see his friends sulking with no motivation to get up to something fun with one of them missing, he could see his little sisters asking his mother where their big brother was. He could see his mother, his best friend, his dear little Mum waiting for her eldest child to come home, to give her a sign that he was alive.

Louis felt anger, mixed with the sadness and the immense regret bubbling up inside him. He almost ran to the front of the bus and begged the driver to stop and let him out. Yet he did nothing, knowing that leaving the bus now, in the middle of nowhere, would be an even stupider idea, and stayed in his seat, watching through tear-blurred vision the trees that rolled by, his home receding with every turn of the bus’ wheels—

 

Despite everything, Harry trusted Niall with knowing where his things were. He was the best party host Harry had ever met, and sure enough, he pulled Harry’s belongings out of the strangest places one by one.

His computer was on a windowsill. There was thawed candle wax all over it, but Harry scratched at it with his fingernail and a part of it fell off, so he supposed he would deal with that when he had the free time. He stuck the laptop under his arm and followed Niall to the bedroom, where he hoped his bag would be.

They found it, after a while, clutched in the arms of a guy. He had drooled over it, and Harry maybe felt a little like crying, as he strained to pull his seven hundred pound Burberry leather bag (a present!) from the tight grip of a sleeping man. He didn’t even know who it was.

He managed, finally, and sat down on an empty corner of the bed, next to where he had put his computer before. He rummaged through the bag - it was mainly empty, as it had been when he had got there, – well, until Niall had abused it by filling it with booze – only having contained his computer and a sweatshirt which, after he wrapped the hoodie around the computer carefully, were both in there.

Niall, who had disappeared once Harry had set out to the quest of freeing his bag, appeared in the doorway, holding out Harry’s ukulele bag. Harry cheered, throwing his bag over his shoulder and walking up to Niall. He took the instrument from him and weighed the bag in his hand. It was heavy enough to actually contain the ukulele, too, so after clapping Niall on the back once, he walked out of the door to the hall—

 

The bus reached a small town, and Louis felt it stop. He checked his phone; there were some minutes left until seven am. Louis pulled on his beanie and took his bag from the seat next to his. He stood up- and sat back down again. He was not going to go anywhere. The sudden determination hit him like a wave, when he remembered the exams he had failed and the days he had spent in bed, skipping class because he ‘couldn’t do it’. Hit him when he realised not once in his life had he carried something through, not really. He would change that, now—

 

When Niall got there, having followed him slowly, Harry was already pulling on his boots.  
                   “What ‘bout breakfast?” he asked, seeing Harry about to leave. His accent was thick and the words kept slurring, as though he was trying to choke the words out. Harry told him to get some water. He nodded, but did not leave.

Harry did feel a little sorry, but he was keen on staying strict, mostly because he really could not afford missing the train, but a little because he was still angry with Niall, in a way—

 

Louis would ride to London, get off the bus there, and with all the money he had -it was a crazy thought, but he liked it- get on the first leaving train to Paris and be there before dinnertime—

 

                   “Ni, you know I have to catch the train. Another time, yeah?”  
Niall shrugged and watched as Harry opened the front door. Harry smiled at him, but Niall just kept pouting until Harry sighed, and shaking his head, stepped closer to him.  
Niall’s face sparked up for a moment, until Harry wrapped his longs arms around him and hugged him tight, Niall’s heels actually lifting from the ground with the force—

 

Some minutes later, the bus was moving again, and the tidal wave of determination had passed. Louis was battling with his heart. Rationally thinking, he told himself, going to Paris would in no world be good idea. He had heard plenty of stories about how no one spoke English there and how the people were cold and cynical. Yes, he knew as well that he wanted, needed to get out to a new setting, but was London not enough? He would have enough money for the train ticket, that was for sure, but he could have also spent it on a motel room for the night.

Eventually, he ended up dropping the thought, choosing to ignore it until he was actually in London. Instead, after eating one of his sandwiches, the sleepless night got the best of him and he fell into a deep, soothing sleep once more—

 

                   “You aren’t getting breakfast, but you’re sure as hell gonna get love,” Harry whispered the last words into his ear in a song-song. Niall groaned and weakly pushed him away, knowing it would not help the slightest. Harry held on for a little longer, before letting go and gripping Niall’s shoulders. He gave him a little shake and let go then, before turning around and stepping to the doorway.

He gave Niall a salute, and after the guy had half-assedly flipped him off, he was out of the door—

 

When Louis woke the second time in the bus, he realised they were driving within city limits, now. He recognised the city then, as London. Unable to help himself, he stared out the window, pressing his face against the glass like a child, mesmerised. The morning rush must have already been in full force, but they were driving on a small bystreet, so the sidewalks were still, or already, deserted.

Until they turned onto a wide main street. Louis had never seen such huge amounts of cars and buses and people. They were everywhere- from the bums still fast asleep on the sidewalks to the busy businessmen and –women hurrying with their briefcases and tailored suits and pencil skirts, and little kids with their mommas. They all had something they needed to do, somewhere they had to go. They all had a plan, an agenda, Louis realised in shock. Come to think of it, the few people in the bus with him most likely had some kind of a plan.  
Leaving him the only one with nothing—

 

Harry walked slowly until he heard the door fall shut behind him, and began to move faster, then, boot heels clanging against the hard tiles of the modern apartment building hall. The air in the corridor felt icy cold and fresh compared to that of the flat, and Harry thought about sending a text to Niall, to tell him to open a window, but he decided to leave it for later. He deserved the dry, smelly heat for a while, after having got Harry so drunk, despite knowing perfectly well how important the next day would be for his friend.

He trotted down the stairs, two steps at a time. He stumbled, once or twice, but with a very close call, managed to steady himself on the rail without actually falling. Giggling, he, now more calmly, made his way down the rest of the steps until he reached the ground floor corridor. He made his way through it, refraining from checking Niall’s mailbox – something he did often out of habit – and walked out through the glass doors—

 

Louis realised it had begun to rain. It must have actually started a while ago; the streets were dark with damp and here and there were puddles wide and deep, the water slashing high when cars speeded over them. Louis suddenly appreciated his little nest in the bus so much more—

 

It was almost ten o’clock. Harry knew if he wanted to make it, he had to be fast. Fortunately, he also knew he would make it to the train station if he walked, or ran, fast enough, in just minutes, and being there ten minutes early was enough, especially as he did not really care about seating—

 

Too soon, though, it was time for Louis to pack his things and get going. The bus had stopped and the people in there with him had already made it outside. As Louis, too, stepped out onto the street, a wave of déjà vu hit him. They had stopped at the exact same bus station some years ago during a school trip. It had been only an hour or so later, morning time; and raining, as well. The only difference was he had been with his friends, and they had been whining about how nice and warm it had been on the bus and how cold it was outside, and laughing, too, gossiping and...

He cut short the train of thought before it slipped from his grasp, and clutching his bag, made his way to a nearby bench. He sat down and took out his phone, mimicking the determined ‘I have something to do, I have a reason to be here’ face of the people around him. He opened Google Maps, and made a mental note on keeping an eye on the battery—

 

Harry’s flat was right across the road from Niall’s, which was the only reason he had agreed to going over the night before, really. The weather was delightful for mid-April, edging towards the end of it, and Harry wished he could have walked for a while, instead of having to hurry home as fast as possible. He supposed he would have to make the best of the run to the station he would have later.

A pause came on the road, where no cars were driving, and Harry took his chance to run across it. Of course, at that exact moment a car turned onto the small street and Harry had to walk faster. He stumbled momentarily, but made it to the other pavement unharmed, laughing at his luck—

 

According to the 21st century almighty, the easiest way to get the train station was to get on the tube and ride for about half an hour, then walk for fifteen minutes or so, but not only had Louis never ridden the tube, he also had no idea where to get on it and how to get on it. He walked, following his little map, for some time, until he realised he had been reading it wrong all along and walking in circles.

It took some time, after that, to figure out where he was and for his phone to calculate a new route, but once he got it, he was off. Like before, he was determined once more to get to the train station as soon as possible; and if not on a train to Paris, then at least on a train to somewhere far away—

 

The few steps running had made Harry’s headache stronger once more. He closed his eyes for a second, before opening them again and setting his eyes towards the building he lived in. It was old, and ugly too, compared to Niall’s. The walls were dark grey, though they could have been brown once. The plaster had worn off here and there below the eaves and around the windows. There was graffiti all over the front door; Harry could remember the exact same writing reappear overnight after the door had been washed.

His flat was on the second floor. From across the road one could have looked into his windows, but at the moment, the curtains were drawn. Not that Harry particularly cared, either. He had thought of it before and thought then, too, how it was odd he always had the curtains drawn when out, and pulled aside when he was home. He could not help it, though. He loved how the light washed over his small room, bringing out every glimmer and sparkle in the room; even the dust bunnies fit, when that happened—

 

London, around Louis, was slowly opening its stores and museums as the early morning grew into late morning. For the first time, Louis noticed how beautiful the huge, grandiose city around him was. The bus had dropped him off on the edge of the centre of the city, and by now, he was passing one national landmark after another.

He could not stop himself from walking slower then, to enjoy the scenery around him. The masses of the morning rush had died down, but there were still so many people on the streets. It felt like the whole world had gathered there. Louis felt strangely patriotic, to be a citizen of such a wonderful country- he laughed out loud the moment the thought reached him.

But Louis knew he could not laugh away the undeniable pride for his nation: he had put away his phone a while ago without realising it, and was now aimlessly strolling around, trying to get at least a glimpse of everything the great city of London had to offer. The rain had yet to stop, but Louis bore no mind to it—

 

Harry reached the front door, and after a little digging, found his keys in a small compartment of his bag. He managed to shrug them out without anything else falling out, and pressed the right one into the keyhole, turning it twice. The door felt nice and cold as he rested his free hand on it, and lowering the doorknob so the door fell open, he rested his head against the door, too, letting the cold metal soothe the panging.

Harry climbed the stairs two at a time, and on his floor, opened the door to his flat and stepped inside quickly. He inhaled, sighing, feeling they homey air fill his nose. It smelt of incense and the cleaning product Harry had used to wash the windows with months ago.

He threw off his boots, thankful for the elastic band fashion allowing him to do so hands free. After letting his bags fall from his shoulder, he stepped farther into the living room and pulled off his sweater. It caught on his hair, and he gasped at the sharp pull, but the pain passed a second later and he pulled his hands out of the sleeves, throwing the sweatshirt on the sofa. He was then standing in the middle of his living room – which also served as a kitchen and dining room, and separated with a bookshelf and a closet, a bedroom –, stretching his back, thinking only about painkillers, a tall glass of water and a cold shower.

Walking to the kitchen area he stripped off his shirt, throwing it over his shoulder. After popping two pills to take away the pain in his mouth he leaned under the faucet, turning the tap on strongest and coldest. He swallowed the pills first and let some water flow over his head then, before realising he still needed to shower, and also realising showering meant he could have water flowing over his whole body—

 

Louis felt like the young, attractive protagonist of a young adult TV series on their first trip outside of the small town they lived in. He supposed he was, for a moment, only he did not have background music and the attractiveness part was questionable, in his opinion.

It was safe to say his mood had lifted since getting off the bus, but after a while, he began to feel bored and decided to find an underground entrance. It did not take him too long, as the big blue-white-red sign hung upon a flight of stairs leading underground just behind a corner.  
He had no idea if it was the right one, but with the help of a nice old lady working at the info box and a map with instructions drawn on a napkin, Louis was off, after thanking the lady, of course, and shunting away from uncomfortable questions.

According to the lady, he needed to first get on a tube that supposedly left in four minutes, so as Louis got to what he thought was the right place to be, he stayed there, waiting. There were people around him, which reassured him a little, as there would not be anyone around if the tube was not coming soon—

 

Wiping his face on his shirt, Harry stepped to where his bed was. He tossed his shirt on it and rid himself of the rest of his clothes.

Fully naked, he trotted to the bathroom, laying a towel near the shower, so he could reach once he was finished. He pulled the plastic walls around him closed and turned the water on, gasping as the first drops hit him, ice cold. His headache had dimmed to a low throb, but he still felt nauseous, and as if he could sleep for approximately the rest of his life.

He sighed, turning the tap off to lather shampoo into his hair. He only ever thought about cutting his hair then, when washing it took about twice the effort and time it used to. But it was never worth it. Not only did his long majestic mane and sexy man-bun get him all the girls (and the boys), he thought with a chuckle, he also actually enjoyed the feel and look of it much more than that of the short hair—

 

Unsurprisingly, on the inside, the train looked little different from an average bus. If only more illuminated, and more modern than the ones in Doncaster, at least.

Louis smiled, thinking of his hometown. Unlike before, the thoughts made him happy now, in a sentimental way. He thought of it as people thought of their childhood: the sadness of it having passed outshined by the joy of the memories. Besides, Louis knew, unlike people reminiscing their past, Louis could have his home back, if he wanted—

 

Stepping out of the shower, Harry hoped leaving it wet would not make it too gross in the few days he would be gone. He dried off his body quickly and wrapped the towel around his hair then, opening the bathroom door slowly, wary of the cold outside. The air gushed over him and a shiver ran down his back, but he ignored it, running to his bed in a few fast steps. He took his boxers and the same jeans he had worn before from where he had tossed them onto the bed and pulled them on, then turned to the closet.

He rummaged through the shelves until he found a black, sleeveless t-shirt that fit with his jeans and would show off his tattoos nicely. He pulled it on and smoothed it down his chest. Looking at the mirror, smiling, he had to hold back from shooting fingerguns at his reflection. He looked great, even with matted, wet hair—

 

After riding five stops, Louis was supposed to get off the tube, then get on a second one, that would take him to the train station he needed. It seemed like an easy enough plan, were it not for one small detail. Between getting off the first tube and the departure of the second one, there were approximately thirty seconds.

So as soon as the doors opened, Louis jumped onto the platform, and desperately pushing past the crowds, mumbling and yelling after him, he ran towards what he hoped was the right tube. He must have made it there in a second, judging by how out of breath he was once he collapsed on the nearest empty seat, laying his head in his hands, panting heavily—

 

After giving himself a final once-over, Harry walked back to the hall. Just about to pull on his boots, after fitting a plastic bag filled with some necessities he had packed the night before in his bag, along with his computer, he remembered the salad he had made to take on the road, in the refrigerator.

Pulling the tip of his foot out of the boot, he rushed to the fridge and found the salad, sealed in a plastic food box and wrapped in an old, pinkish plastic bag. He took it from the shelf and shut the refrigerator door, hurrying back to the corridor. He realised the inside of the fridge had smelt suspiciously like dead animals, but what could he do? It had to wait another few days—

 

As Louis felt the tube going into motion with a beep from above the doors, locking, he looked up, smiling. There were people staring at him, as he looked like he had just run a marathon, but he did not care. He was happy he had made it, and absurd as it was, he grew more anxious every moment to just get to the station and get on a train, already.

With the tube rolling on and Louis silently counting stops to know when to get off, he relaxed and opened his phone, to look up train times and see how to buy a ticket. He looked at some trains to Scotland, but it did not feel right. Paris was where he wanted to go, no matter how impossible the mission was. Unfortunately, just as inconvenient as it sounded, the next train was not to leave until over an hour and later. Louis sighed, and checked to see if he could buy a ticket on his phone. He could have, but he only had cash, he remembered, so he had to wait until he was at the train station. He had enough money for the ticket, fortunately, even though recounting, he would be left with about one meal worth of money for France. He told himself he would figure that out later.

His stop came soon, and he got off the tube and manoeuvred up the staircase onto the street. The sun had come up, drying off the wet streets and lighting up the world just enough for Louis’ mood to spark up the last few inches—

 

Finally, after throwing his wide, worn out black hat on, and pulling his on boots, Harry was ready to go. As a last resort he grabbed his (Liam’s) leather jacket from the rack and shrugged it on, just in case. He gave his little studio flat a once-over, and with a happy smile grabbed his bags. After stepping out of the doorway and through the corridor, he rushed to shut the door and lock it up, first the upper, then the lower lock.

Done, he rushed to the staircase and down it, jumping from the second to last step before the first floor. With a quick glance in his overflowing mailbox - bills, bills, bills - he was at the front door, pushing it open and stepping into the amiable April late morning. It seemed the rain which had been falling before had just stopped, water dripping from the small, bright-green baby-leaves stuck to the old lime trees at the front of the building.

Turning left from his door, he rushed to the crossroad, tapping his fingers against his thighs anxiously, waiting for the traffic light to turn green. When it did, he all but ran over the road and on, past Niall’s house, and past all the other buildings on the street. In a few minutes, he turned around a corner and could begin to see the old train station at the end of the long and wide main street—

 

Louis was positively bubbling, trotting to the train station. It had been impossible to not notice it, as the enormous Victorian building stood out from the average houses around it, to say the least. It was farther than he had thought, and even though he could see the train station the whole time, it took him almost ten minutes to actually get there—

 

Manoeuvring around the people, trying not to bump into anyone, Harry galloped down the pavement. He had to cross the road once or twice, running over the narrow asphalt roads, which caused him to get honked at a few times more than necessary, but he was in a hurry, had a slight headache, and could not care less—

 

Louis stopped in his tracks the moment he was inside, unaware where to go or even look. The station seemed bigger on the inside, the curving glass ceiling bringing so much light into the single huge room, and the absolute mass of people creating a feeling of a second Tower of Babel. Louis did not want to stop for too long, though, anxious to get his train ticket and only then allow himself to look around a little. As long as he kept a strict eye on the clock, of course—

 

In record time, Harry had made it to the large glass front doors of the train station. He stepped inside. Immediately, he was met with the humid heat of the indoors, and had to shake the front of his jacket with his free hand, creating a flood of air to cool him.  He knew he would be sweating again in no time, just enough for only him to notice, but he could not do anything about, and so let it be.

Looking at the timetable, hanging over the middle of the great hall, above a fountain, he finally looked at the clock, having ignored it before in the fear of missing the train and never making it to Paris in time.

When his vision focused on the clock, his mouth almost fell open.  
He had not missed the train, per se.  
Actually, he had twenty-three minutes left until departure—

 

Louis found a row of ticket windows after some time, and made his way to the one with the nicest looking person. It was an older lady, funnily similar to the one at the underground info box, and he asked her if he could buy a ticket to the next leaving train to Paris. She definitely did not give him an odd look when asking if he was a student.

Turned out his ticket was some twenty pounds cheaper than he had thought. Happy like a child, Louis strolled to the middle of the open hall and found the midmost bench to sit down. He had around half an hour until the departure. Reading his ticket over and over to make sure he got to the right departure platform at the right time, Louis ate another one of his sandwiches and looked up then, realising he should probably buy some more food while he had the chance. He found a little kiosk and bought himself some salad, and to not, god forbid, leave the impression of a healthy eater, a bunch of burgers for later—

 

Holding back a laugh, Harry looked around and found a bench nearby, right in the middle of the hall, next to the fountain and timetable. He sat down, checking his wrist watch, something he had not even noticed he had put on, to make sure he indeed had twenty minutes left. He did, and with a disbelieving laugh he laid his bag and his ukulele on the bench next to him, pulling off his hat and letting it fall next to him—

 

Louis had been making his way back to the bench to sit down and eat, but as he got close, he noticed a young man sitting there already, so he walked to another one and sat down there.

Inadvertently, he had sat down so that when he looked up, the first thing he saw was the bench he had been sitting on and the man sitting there now—

 

After scrolling through his phone aimlessly for a minute or two, not doing anything, Harry remembered he had packed a book with him. Some hipster ‘classic’ Zayn had wanted him to read. He shuffled around in his bag for a while, refraining from just emptying the insides of it on the bench, and eventually found what he had been looking for. It was a tiny book, white in colour with a pair of broken glasses above the author’s name, and a fat boy and a huge fly above the title—

 

Louis could not see his face, as his long hair covered it as he sat, lost in the book he was reading, back so hunched any mother in the world would have sighed loudly at the sight. By his clothes, Louis would have said he could have not been much older than him, but by the dark brown hat next to him and the way he kept checking his wristwatch every few seconds, he could have been sixty. His hair was too nice for that, though—

 

                   “Lord of the flies,” Harry mumbled.  
He realised then Zayn must have been talking about some other book, because he knew for sure they had all read it, years ago, in year ten or so. He could not remember if he had liked it or not, though, despite having some recollection of what the plot had been, so with a shrug, he delved in, opening the front cover and flipping past the first few, mostly empty pages.

_„The boy with fair hair lowered himself down the last few feet of rock and began to pick his way towards the lagoon...“—_

 

Louis realised soon that he was noticing patterns in how the man checked his clock and turned the page, and supposed he had most likely been staring a bit too long. He looked away, checking his own clock and trying to figure out whether the platform was close enough for him to be able to stay where he was or if he should have began to make his way to it.

A sign some meters away from him, hanging high above the ground, let him know the platform he needed to go to, the special Eurostar platform, was around the corner, so since he had no idea where exactly it was, Louis decided to get going—

 

Harry read the first few pages, looking up from the book every once in a while to check the clock, not paying much attention to what he saw, really, until a little voice at the back of his head reminded him he should probably actually see what the time was. He turned his hand to look at his watch and checked the time. He muttered a swear under his breath – four minutes were left until eleven.

Putting away his book and hastily grabbing his bags from around him, he stood up, managing the get his hat back on his head somehow. Setting his sight to where he knew the right platform to be, he began walking, his pace quick—

 

A female voice said the train would be leaving in a few minutes, and hanging behind a French family, Louis entered the train. He did not spend too long looking for a seat, actually sitting down at the first open seat next to a window he saw. He thought of putting his bag onto the seat right of his, but as he looked out of the window and saw the people on the platforms, he realised it would be a rather dick of a move—

 

In a minute, Harry had made it around the corner to the platforms and jumped on the last passenger car, it having been closest to him—

 

The same female voice as before called out from the speakers outside, but Louis paid no mind to it, choosing instead to take in the beautiful interior of the train.

It was all colour coordinated, dark blues mixing with whites and reds – colours of both the British Empire and the Republic of France. The furniture was modern: tall, leather-coated seats varying in colour, and small desks for every row. But grandiose was not the only thing present. The floors needed a good cleaning, muddy footprints here and there, and hand and even faceprints on the windows. At least there were no old men smoking cigars, hopefully, Louis thought to himself.

He checked his clock. There were three minutes to go until the train would start moving. Louis had already thrown off his shoes and made himself quite comfortable, his backpack safe under his seat. The clock on his phone screen changed- only two minutes left—

 

Just as Harry stepped inside, he noticed one of the electronic clocks change to 10.58 from the corner of his eye, but he paid no mind to it. He was on the train – he was safe.

He looked around, searching for a seat, and found there was not a single empty seat left in the room. Sighing, he adjusted the bag strap on his shoulder and moved on, stopping for a second at the glass doors separating the wagons, before moving on once more.

To his surprise, he only found a few empty seats in all of the thirteen carriages he passed through, and those, too, had been either occupied by a bag or a glaring ‘don’t you dare sit here’ kind of passenger in the next seat. Already rather desperate, he walked into the last standard class wagon, expecting the same sight—

 

Louis had just noticed the clock changing once more, leaving only one last minute; but as he was about to turn his head, something else caught his attention. The glass doors separating the wagons of the train opened, and into the corridor stepped the same young man who had taken Louis’ seat on the bench before.

Louis immediately became very aware of the fact the only free seats were next to him. In just seconds, the man noticed, too, and smiling, made his way through the corridor towards Louis—

 

Right away, Harry’s eyes fell on not one, but two empty seats, next to a third seat occupied by a boy, eighteen at the most, who seemed completely disinterested in his surroundings. Just as he was about to walk there, though, the boy looked up, frowning, right at Harry, but it was too late now, he had already began to make his way to the seats. The glare of a teenage boy - a cute one, at that, at least from far off - was much more survivable than the glare of a middle-aged person.

Harry sat down in the seat next to the boy, displeased he could not sit at the window, but supposing he only had himself to blame, and laying his bag on the seat next to his, and the ukulele and hat on top of them, he relaxed into his seat, pulling his book out once more. Sighing contently, knowing he had made it, he opened the book up from where he had left off, and stretching his legs out in front of him, began to read—

 

Louis tried to ignore him as he sat down, unfortunately onto the seat next to Louis’, as opposed to the one after that, putting his bags there, instead. Louis noted one of the bags was shaped like a small guitar. He could not remember the name of the instrument.

Seemingly on his phone, he watched from the corner of his eye as the man laid his hat on his bags, and stretching out his outrageously long legs the best he could, he pulled a book out of his bag, and began to read with not a worry in the world.

Louis inhaled deeply, and picking out a better song, put his phone away. He rested his head on his wrist, his elbow on the table, and looked out the window. Smoothly enough to go unnoticed were he not looking, the train began to move.

This was it, Louis realised, there was no turning back now.

His gaze got caught on a woman, standing outside on the platform, waving to someone. She wiped her eyes with a napkin. She reminded Louis of his mother, and just like that, for what must have been the millionth time that day, he was pulled back home by his thoughts.

 

* * *

 

The train had been moving for just under half an hour. Louis had dozed off for ten minutes or so, but woke up abruptly, startled by the loud song that began playing after a few quieter ones. His head had fallen back on the seat and he lifted it quickly, his whole body moving forward slightly.

He startled Harry, too, in doing that, who looked up from his book momentarily, but went back to reading when he realised the boy next to him had just woken up. He read a few more sentences, aware of Louis next to him, rubbing his eyes and stretching the best he could with the little personal room.

He tried to concentrate, as he had reached the middle of the book and it had actually become quite interesting, but when he heard more rustling from beside him he had to look.  
Louis had taken out his earphones, and was rubbing his ears. He felt Harry’s stare on his face, but told himself he was just imagining it. After all, any and every time he had peered at him, he had been absolutely committed in his book; and whether he admitted that to himself or not, he had been looking over every few minutes.

Resting his head on his hand, staring out at the fields rushing past, he wondered how long it would take until they reached the Channel. He would not have called it being scared, - though he had a habit of not calling things by their real names - but definitely felt some kind of anxiety bubbling up in him. Not only had he ever been out of the country, he had no idea how long the drive underground would last. He remembered then, that not just underground, but underwater as well.

Sighing, he opened up his phone and turned on the wi-fi. He was surprised, but delightfully so, that there even was any. He mucked about a little, checking Facebook last, after which he immediately stuck it in his bag. It had finished charging anyway.

He was almost shaking. Unthinkingly, he had smiled at having a surprising seven unread messages. When he opened them, though, they were all from his classmates, asking where he was.

His phone had by now probably slid deep to the bottom of his bag, but it was as if he could hear his friends asking him where he was. He knew he should have most likely told someone he was sick, as he always, always told Stan at the very least that he was not going to school on those rare days he did miss school, but then he probably would have wanted to come over and- For the first time in his life Louis wished his friends weren’t so good.

He wondered, momentarily, why his mother still had not called, but remembered then he often left the house before the girls and her even woke up, as his lessons started an hour earlier on most days. He shook his head rapidly, wanting not to think about home, before realising the man next to him must have noticed that, as the feeling of eyes on his back grew much stronger. In reality, Harry had not even noticed the movement from the corner of his eye.

Louis ignored the feeling and reached down to his bag, hoping to find something to spend time on. After minutes of in the end absolutely pointless rummaging, he found nothing and let his bag slip from his grasp onto the ground once more. He wished he had been as smart as his seatmate, and packed a book with him. He had not, though, and had nothing more to do then to just stare out the window.  
And of course, do his best to ignore Harry.

Harry himself was still completely oblivious to the boy fidgeting beside him. He was reaching the middle of the book and was so invested in what was going on an elephant could have slipped past him. He had thought about him at first, just as the train had began to move, and wondered if he could catch a look at the boy, but had almost forgot about him by now.

Louis, on the other hand, was horribly aware of Harry next to him. Honestly, he had no idea what caused him to be so anxious about him, but he was just so painfully there, making the smallest of Louis’ actions feel like screaming for the guy to look at him, say something- Do anything other than just exist there, happy as ever with his little book and wonderful hair.

Louis sat back in his chair after a minute or two, letting his head fall back on the headrest, sighing, falling closer to Harry in doing so. His nose immediately filled with a strange, sweet smell.

Remaining discreet, he sniffed the air, scrunching up his nose momentarily, like a bunny.  
It was the smell of apples, Louis realised after a moment or two; but even more so of something else, something he could not put a finger on. It irked him, that he could not figure out what it was that he could smell.

For some reason he felt like it must have been coming from somewhere close by, to the left of him. He turned his head, peering for a moment to make sure Harry was still deeply invested in his book, and realised then, with a shock, what it was he could smell. It was him, it was the young man sitting next to him, neck craned and face hidden behind his hair, lost in his book.  
Unable to hold back, Louis lifted his head from the headrest and just a fraction of an inch, leaned closer to him. Fair enough, the smell got just a little bit stronger.

Surprising even himself, Louis realised he liked the smell; very much so, even. He reckoned the apples must have come from a bodywash or perhaps a shampoo, but the other part of it, the one he could not name, he realised, was the natural scent of a person.  
He found himself inhaling deeply, wanting to savour the scent.

Before he could stop himself, he thought about how wonderful it probably would feel to hug him. He was taller than Louis, definitely, and Louis could not hold back from imagining pressing his face into the crook of his neck, under the sharp jawline he had noted before, wrapping his arms around his neck, feeling his arms, most likely strong and sure, but at the same time gentle and reassuring, wrapping around his body and just holding him, keeping him there. Maybe he would be strong and tall enough to lift Louis up a little-  
Harry coughed.

Instinctively, Louis pulled away from Harry, turning his whole body away from him and towards the window after a moment. He had no idea what had got into him.

It was not the fact that he was thinking like that about a man, he had more or less come to terms with that years ago, but it was just that he had let himself imagine absolutely impossible and stupid things about a stranger. Someone with whom he would most likely not exchange a single word with in his life.  
He leaned closer to the window, scoffing quietly. All those adults talking about puberty and hormones must have been right after all, at least a little.

Still, a few minutes later he found himself back again, facing Harry just so slightly with his body, this time not so much breathing him in, but secretly staring at him. At his hands, especially.

They were big, with long, slim fingers and neatly curving, manicured fingernails. His skin, up until the sleeves of his jacket – that was as much as Louis could see – was milky white and pale, nothing unusual, as the sunbathing season was yet to come. Louis could just slightly make out a vein or two on the back of his right hand, the one closest to him, but mostly his hands were smooth, only the knuckles a shade darker and wrinkly, maybe unusually so. He was wearing a watch, nothing fancy, just a simple white time-teller on his wrist, with a black leather band and little golden joints keeping the pieces together.

Slowly, Louis managed to angle his body towards him even more, so he could look at the rest of his body, too, without turning his head and staring openly.  
His back seemed permanently curved, and Louis almost wanted to slap him on his lower back and tell him to ‘straighten up’, as his mother used to at home, but for obvious reasons, he refrained. Instead, he looked at the jacket he was wearing.

It was not unattractive, definitely not, the dark, sleek black and the silver bits and pieces here and there fitting nicely around his thin wrists and curving then, clinging to his upper arms, - Louis smiled a little smugly when he realised that he probably had nice, strong biceps - but something about it was just a little off. It did not seem to fit with the rest of his outfit, or more so, his being. It was like he had lent the jacket from a friend or something – it seemed, funnily enough, too tough for him.  
Louis was right of course, despite not knowing that. Harry had lent the jacket from a friend – Liam.

He coughed suddenly, startling Louis into moving away from him for a second, once more, but soon Louis realised he must have just needed to clear his throat. He still seemed so invested in his book Louis was sure (hoping) he had not realised he was being watched.

Harry had not. He had, somewhere at the back of his head, started thinking about the boy next to him again, but had yet to notice him staring. He was just trying to remember if he had been cute. He had a feeling he was, which brought back the urge to turn his head ever so slightly and look, but for now, the book was interesting enough to keep him constrained.

That did not stop Louis from inching closer to him once more, of course, actually led him on, his eyes set on Harry’s hair, this time around.

It was long, reaching up to his shoulders, and had it not been for the curls, would have been even longer. But, most definitely, the curls were the best part. They seemed soft and were big, luscious, like the ones on little cherubs in old paintings. The only difference was cherubs were usually blonde- his hair was dark brown, like chocolate.

Louis wondered if he would ever have a chance to touch it. He brushed the thought off with an internal laugh after a second, knowing it was a largely stupid thing to think about, but still, he wished he could just brush his hand from his forehead to the nape of his neck, and maybe even pull on the springy bits around his face a little.

It was a shame Louis could not properly see his face, though. He had seen just a glimpse before, as he had walked towards Louis in the aisle, but he had been far away and Louis had had to look away to not seem creepy. He was sure he would be attractive, he could see that from his body alone, but wished he could make Harry forget about his book for just a moment and pay attention to Louis, for a change.

Then again, if he were to pay attention to Louis it would most likely mean conversation, some form of communication for sure, and Louis was not sure if he was prepared for that. Simply admiring the features he could see for the time-being had to be enough.

Breaking his eyes finally away from him, he focused back on the view outside of the windows. It was countryside, as before, endless fields and plains rushing past, as if the train was still and the world moving, not the other way around. Louis sighed. He thought of taking a picture, or maybe even filming the view, the rush of the world around him, for a while, but did not fancy taking his phone out; not yet.

He was so lost in the view and trying not to think about how he was leaving his home farther behind with every second, he barely noticed the quiet groan and shift next to him.  
                   “Hey.”

Louis registered a low, hoarse voice, and turned around slowly, caught off guard. He did not realise what the only possible origin for the voice was before it was too late.

When he had turned around completely, he finally realised. It was Harry, of course, looking at him at the moment with eyebrows just a little higher than normal and a tiny, barely-there smile stuck on his lips. He looked like he was expecting Louis to answer.

The poor boy was just about to splutter something out, when Harry looked back down at his hands, where his book was rested, and then back up to him, opening his mouth once more.  
                   “Have you ever read this book?” he asked, shoving it in Louis’ face, “’Cause like, we read it in school, years back, yeah, but I didn’t really remember anything about it, right? So I started reading it again and Jesus Christ like, a book has never made me this angry before? Like-”  
He cut himself off mid sentence, shaking his head slowly, smiling at Louis.

Louis was still glued to his spot, one hand on the table in front of him, the other digging into the rough-soft cushion of the backrest of the chair. He was finding trouble in breathing, if he was honest with himself. 

To his fortune, before he was forced to say anything, Harry went on speaking.  
                   “Erm, oh my God, I’m so sorry, I- I probably creeped you out, I’m sorry, I-” he was rambling now, he realised, scratching behind his ear. He was not sure if it was his natural awkwardness that always came out at the worst of times or the fact Louis was cute; very cute, actually. 

Louis’ mind, at the same time, was going at the speed of a Formula One car, but not getting anything done. Scratch anything he had said before, about wanting to see the guy’s face. He wished he had never met him at all – at least he could sleep at night, for the rest of his life. 

He was still looking at Louis, smiling a little awkwardly. His hand had fallen from his neck to his thigh, where it was laying right now, in what looked like a not very comfortable position to Louis and felt like a horribly uncomfortable position to Harry. Somewhere, deep down, he knew he had most likely messed up for good now, but at the same time was desperate to not give up just yet. Goodness, he felt like the biggest creep in the world. 

                   “Okay,” he finally spoke, stretching his arm out at an awkward angle in an attempt to put the book on the table without touching Louis accidentally, before pulling it back quickly and laying it on his other hand on his lap, “I started this off wrong, I’m sorry.” 

He took a deep breath and smiled at Louis, sincerely this time, feeling just a tiny bit more confident.  
                   “Hi, I’m Harry!” he said cheerily, extending his right hand.  
Louis was still shocked, to say the least, but the ever-human gesture of introducing oneself helped him to compose himself. He was ready to ignore the fact the guy’s name, Harry, sounded just as appealing as he looked, for now, if it meant Harry did not find him an absolute knob.

Freeing the back of his seat from his death-grip, he sat up straight, extending his own right hand, warily grabbing Harry’s. He made a mental note to give God, or whoever was responsible for it, a big hug after he died, for not giving him hands that sweated in stressful situations. 

The moment his palm gently touched against Harry’s, Harry grabbed it tightly, shaking it eagerly. Only then did Louis remember he had not told him his name.  
                   “Oh, erm,” he noticed how Harry’s eyes lit up, as those were the first words he heard from him, but brushed it off and forced more words out of his mouth, “My name’s Louis.”

Harry’s smiled doubled, if that was possible, and he shook Louis’ hand for just a little longer, before letting go of it civilly, entwining his fingers in his lap, sitting, to be honest, in a way that reminded Louis of his little sisters on their first days of school. He would not have imagined a gesture like that from someone who looked like Harry. 

For the second time, he reached around Louis and grabbed the book from the small desk. He handed it to Louis, who took it after a moment, unsure what exactly was happening.  
                   “So, have you read it?” Harry asked, removing one hand from his lap and running it through his hair. The movement was so casual, came so naturally to him that Louis felt like the book in his hands was a lifeline, an IV dripping life into him every few seconds.  
When he looked back up at Louis, his mouth hanging open ever so slightly, Louis felt like he really did need an IV.

His expectant expression forced Louis back down from the clouds, (or rather the comfort of falling into a coma), and to the book in his hands. He looked at it, reading the title and author off the small white book’s cover.  
                   “Lord of the flies,” he said out loud, and thought for a minute. “I’ve heard of it, but no, I don’t think I’ve read it,” he finally answered, handing the book back to Harry, hoping his hands were not shaking visibly. Honestly, he was amazed he had got this far without yelling at Harry to give him his babies or something equally as horrifying. 

Harry took the book from him and their fingers brushed for just a second, making Louis shiver. His hands must have been warm. 

They stared at each other for a moment, and Louis knew it was awkward, but somehow did not really feel like it. Then, before anything else could happen, Harry’s face lit up, right before everything got dark. 

Louis had the chance the panic for just a split-second, before the lights turned on and he could see around himself again. Harry was still facing him, but not looking at him anymore, but past him, right to the right of his head. 

Following Harry’s gaze Louis looked behind himself, and realised what had happened.  
                   “We’re in the channel,” Harry said, his smile sounding through his words. Louis felt him shift and realised he must have leant closer to the window, and that meant closer to Louis, too, but he decided to ignore it. 

He looked out of the window for just a minute longer, before turning around and finding Harry, staring out of the window, mesmerised, and much closer than Louis had thought. In fact, if Louis were to lean in just the tiniest bit, their chests would touch. He decided to ignore that as well, and coughed, to get Harry’s attention. 

Harry looked down at him and smiled, his dimples bottomless in the bright, yellow lightning. He leaned a little farther away from Louis, and collecting all of his strength, Louis spoke up.  
                   “So,” he said, voice small, “How long are we gonna be underground?”  
He may not have admitted it, but the thought of being underground and underwater for a while frightened him, if only just a little.

Harry shrugged carelessly, “About twenty minutes,” he sounded reassuring, “You won’t even notice it, trust me.”  
Louis was about to either protest, as he did not want Harry to think he was scared, or ask him how he knew so surely, if he had ridden the Eurostar before, before Harry looked down at the book still in his hands. 

                  “So, about this,” he said, waving the book in the air, next to his face, “You haven’t read it, you’re lucky. Don’t read this.” 

Louis exhaled abruptly, a small laugh escaping thanks to how grave Harry sounded. He crossed his arms over his chest, tilting his head to the side a little, licking his lips slowly.  
                   “What’s so bad about it, then?” he asked.  
It took Harry a moment to answer. He was too caught by the way Louis’ eyes twinkled in the train lights, the way he cocked his head, the way he licked his lips. Harry wished he was the one licking them instead.

                   “Well,” he stumbled past the thoughts, concentrating on the topic at hand, “It’ll make you angry. Made me angry, that’s for sure.”  
Louis looked at the book, back on Harry’s lap, and before thinking better of it, snatched it. Only when it was safely in his hand and his hand was back against his chest, did he realise he had touched Harry’s crotch in the process. Harry’s, who was staring at him with wide eyes, processing what had just happened.

Louis kept looking at him for just a moment longer, unsure where all this sudden boldness had come from on the inside, smirking on the outside, before bursting out in giggles, turning towards the desk in front of him, laying his hands on the surface to examine the book.  
                   “So,” he said, turning his head to look at Harry who was still staring at him in disbelief, “If it’s so horrible and I should never read it, you might as well spoil it to me. What’s it about?” 

Harry had no idea what exactly was happening in front of him at the moment, but he figured he was expected to be a part of it, so with another scratch to the back of his head, leaned closer to Louis.

He told Louis the whole plot, up until the very last two chapters that he had yet to finish. The whole time Louis’ sight kept switching between the book in his hands and Harry’s face, moving gradually closer to him. He was amused, to say the least.

About three minutes into the talk, Louis noticed how Harry managed to speak more slowly than anyone he had ever had the pleasure to have a conversation with, while still remaining interesting. Or at some point, no so much interesting as listenable, but Louis was willing to make-do with listenable, too. After all, when he began to feel slightly bored about five and a half minutes in, when Harry was still not past the fourth chapter, all he had to do was avert his eyes permanently onto Harry’s face (lips), and turn his body along, too, resting his back against the wall rather than the backrest, to avoid hurting his neck. And maybe show Harry he was interested in whatever it was coming from him, even if he did not think of it while doing so.  
Harry droned on for about another ten minutes, before finally reaching the end of the tenth chapter, after which he smiled at Louis victoriously, stretching his back.

                   “So, long story short, from the very start, this thing,” –he motioned towards the book off hand- “Has been absolutely pissing me off.”

Louis had been watching him for a while now, trying his hardest not grin like an absolute doofus the whole time, but as Harry motioned towards the book, he looked at it too. He picked it up slowly, peering at Harry for a second, and brought it close to himself, running his thumb over the slightly relief cover. He opened the book up from a random page somewhere near the middle and skimmed his eyes over the small text.

Harry was still sitting motionlessly, fixated, watching as Louis read a few sentences here, then flipped the page, and read another few many chapters away. Louis could feel his eyes on himself as he flipped through the book aimlessly, but decided to ignore him, until he accidentally opened the book up just where Harry had left off: the first page of chapter eleven.  
He looked up then, and smiled softly, before handing the book to Harry.

                  “Why don’t you read the rest of it then, and tell me what happens,” he said.  
Just as he finished, the train seemingly rode over something and shifted, and as if on cue flooded with light. Harry looked past Louis, out of the window, and leaned closer, shifting his weight onto his hand on the small table. He was close enough Louis could smell him again, and much better than before. The wish to press his face into the crook of Harry’s neck and just breathe him in was much stronger now than before, but still he shook the thought off with a quiet, almost inaudible snort.

Instead, he kept looking at Harry, as the dimples in his cheeks appeared once more, when a wide grin spanned over his face.  
                   “France,” he murmured, looking at Louis for a moment, his smile growing even more, if possible.

Louis pulled his eyes from Harry with difficulty and looked out the window, too. The only difference from the British countryside he could see, was the fact the sun was out, shedding bright, cheerful light over the fields and treetops. Still, Louis could feel the small change in how he was feeling. It was the first time he had ever been out of the country, after all.

They remained like that for a while, watching as the landscape rushed past. Finally, still not tearing his eyes from the window, Harry sat back in his chair. Only then did he notice the book in his hands. He turned to his bag on his left and opened it, fitting the small book between his things.

                   “Aren’t you gonna read the rest?” Louis’ voice suddenly sounded from behind Harry’s back. He turned around, and looking at Louis, shook his head.  
                   “Why not?” Louis asked, “I was hoping you could tell me how it ends.”  
Harry smiled, touching his face with his hand for a moment.  
                   “I think I’ve got something better to do,” he responded after a second, a grin painting his face. Louis gave him a questioning look.  
Ignoring Louis for a moment, Harry peered past him once again, to look out of the window. A small, bright white cloud was covering the sun. Just as he looked into it, squinting, it moved and the sunlight pushed through harshly.

                   “What, then?” Louis asked.  
Harry turned to look at him, but could barely see his face as his vision was covered by dancing black dots. He shrugged, still, rubbing his eyes. It did little to help, and when he spoke, he could still not see Louis very well.  
                   “Well, I’ve got you to talk to,” was what he said, blinking. Louis finally appeared in front of him. He was looking at Harry in disbelief, eyebrows high on his forehead, little creases in his skin above them. Harry smiled and shrugged, ignoring how Louis opened his mouth slowly, trying to say something.  
                   “I’d love to get to know you better,” he said with a smirk.  
The befuddled, startled look Louis gave him after that only helped to grow Harry’s smirk and make him wish they were alone in his bedroom, rather than the crowded train.

Louis collected himself after a moment, though, and pursing his lips ran his index finger and thumb over either sides of his jaw. Looking up at the ceiling from the corner of his eye, he inhaled deeply, and then exhaled just the same. He looked back down at Harry, smiling, and shrugged.

Harry was looking him deep in the eye, expectant. He was sitting sideways in his seat, as was Louis, with his right forearm resting against the back of the seat, his fingers gripping into the top, and his left hand in his lap. Both of them still silent, Harry shifted, resting his right leg on the seat, his ankle resting on his left knee and foot dangling above the ground limply. His boots needed cleaning, Louis noticed. The shiny black leather was covered in grey, dusty marks, with scratches running over the top and sides.

Averting his eyes from his feet, Louis looked back up at Harry. If he would only stop smiling like that, Louis thought. He did no such thing though, instead leaned his head on his right hand, his face and upper body moving closer to Louis in the process, encouraging him, letting him know there was nothing to be scared of. Louis knew if he did not speak up soon, he would make the situation awkward for the both of them. He wished he could just pull himself together, because after all, he was not scared of telling about himself to Harry, actually wanted to do that, but still could not bring himself to.

He opened his mouth for a moment, yet closed it again just another second later, keeping his gaze on everything except Harry’s face. He was surprised Harry had not spoken up until now. Peering at him for just a second, he saw him, still smiling, looking like he could wait an eternity and remain unfazed. Louis wondered if Harry really found him interesting, or was just a little odd.

Louis spent another few seconds looking around the vehicle, before finally letting up and, this time permanently, looking at Harry. Harry was still staring at him with the same look, but his smile grew a little when Louis finally looked at him for longer than a fraction of a second. His mouth opened for a moment, exposing shiny, sharp teeth, and after a moment his tongue. He licked his lower lips slowly, running the bottom of his tongue over it, before pulling it back into his mouth and going back to smiling.

Louis rested the side of his head on the back of the seat, crossing his arms over his chest. He wondered when the silence had turned into a game of trying not to be the one to speak up first. He realised then, the little game of theirs allowed him to stare at Harry’s face shamelessly – something he had not dared to do before.

Jumping at his chance, he bore into Harry’s eyes first. By colour, they were a deep forest green, with the greyish hint most light eyes have. By shape, they were big and round, not sitting very deep in his face. Beneath both eyes was a rather prominent, dark bag, which made Louis wonder how much sleep Harry had had, lately. Louis was sitting too far to properly make out the shape of his eyelashes, but could make out they were long. With a tiny laugh through his nose he told himself his were probably longer. Before moving on from his eyes, Louis gave a small look to his eyebrows, and noted they were thick and long, moving slightly upward towards his temples, and straight, unlike his own.

Louis examined his nose quickly, too. Funnily enough, its shape reminded him of a penis, but Louis stopped that thought before he could burst out in giggles. There was a patch of acne next to Harry’s nose, on his right cheek, and as Louis skimmed over his face to see if there were any more, he saw, to his surprise, that there were small red dots scattered over his face in many spots. On his forehead, at his temples, near his jaw. Still, they were small and scarce enough to not ruin the rest of his face. Harry was still extremely handsome, Louis had to admit that to himself, as much as he would not have liked to. He gave another short look to his nose and moved on then, to his mouth.

Louis was surprised he had not noticed it before. His lips were wet and bright pink, almost unnaturally so. Louis stuck a note to the proverbial refrigerator of his mind to ask Harry if he used lipstick, come the chance. The shape of them was obscene to say the least, his upper lip just slightly thicker than the lower one, hanging above it. They both seemed so soft, Louis wished he could have run his fingers over them. Or maybe kiss them, but he did not allow himself to dwell on that for longer than just a moment. There were thin, shallow lines running vertically over his lips, like everybody else’s, but other than that, they seemed softer than Louis could imagine.

Out of instinct, his hand rose to his own lips, fingers pulling on the lower one, as he tried to figure out if his would be soft enough to fit with Harry’s. Another thing he wished he could stop thinking about.

Trying desperately to keep from reaching out and just running his thumb over Harry’s lips, Louis averted his eyes and tried to take in his whole face at once.

Only then did he notice the slight, barely noticeable stubble covering his jaw and chin, and forming a line between his nose and upper lip. Now, Louis had never been a huge fan of the ‘two day look’, especially on younger guys, as it usually gave off the aura of someone who does not shower more often than he does, and maybe lives in his mother’s basement, but on Harry, it only helped to make him look even more sickeningly attractive, if possible. The stubble, paired with his piercing eyes and bushy brows, and large nose and outrageous lips, gave him the look of someone you could know from the moment you were born ‘till the second you die, and never figure out completely. And his hair - the dark brown, long, cherub-y locks - framing all of that, only served to make him even more intriguing.

The mystery man himself, of course, was not at all aware of the emotional storm going on within his seatmate. All he knew about was that while Louis was deeply invested in examining him, he was returning the gesture just as intensely.

He had started from the bottom.  
Louis’ jawline was soft, much more so than Harry’s, but still strong enough to frame his face finely. He had no hair on his chin and jaw, if only the peach fuzz below his temples, which made Harry wonder once more how old Louis was. 

His lips were thin and chapped, like he had been chewing on them. They were a lovely, faded shade of pink, like the bottoms of people’s fingernails. It felt to Harry like they were not supposed to be as light, and he wondered if the boy was cold. He would ask him later, he decided. He also thought about how easy it would be to just reach out and grab the back of Louis’ neck, pull him close, and kiss the red onto his lips. He could almost see Louis, pulling away, breathless, with his mouth hanging open ever so slightly, his lips swollen, tinted a wonderful shade of hot pink; and a thin, rounded string of saliva still connecting his mouth to Harry’s.

He had to close his eyes for a second, to get rid of the image in his head. When he opened them again, he allowed himself one last glance to Louis’ lips, before moving on upwards. 

He had a small nose. It was straight, tilted only slightly up at the tip, so Harry could just slightly see inside his nostrils. He wondered if he had ever met anyone before, whose nose he could call cute and mean it. He gazed over his cheeks, too, and noticed that despite his generally soft bone structure, he had sharp, protruding cheekbones. His skin was clear, and Harry instinctively ran his fingers over his own lumpy check, wondering how in the hell Louis had got so lucky.

When he looked upwards after a moment, his breath hitched.  
Louis’ eyes were- Indescribable was the only word Harry could think of. Looking into them he felt as if he was looking down at a lazurite ocean, falling into it. The longer he looked, the closer they seemed to get, yet, as one who is falling cannot very well stop their flight, he could not tear away his eyes.

By shape, they were rather narrow and small, like the eyes of a fox, but the long, curving lashes framing his eyes gave them size and depth, so that as if the colour was not enough to keep the viewer’s eyes from moving, the lashes would keep them there, stuck forever.

Harry felt he was definitely stuck forever. Looking up at his eyebrows and seeing them thin and curved perfectly, a world’s difference from Harry’s own, did nothing to help.

He blinked continuously a few times, before squeezing his eyes closed for just a moment. When he opened them again he felt like he could look at Louis again without bursting. He did – look at Louis, that is. He looked at Louis’ hair, and saw it around his face like a beautiful, chocolaty halo, the warm sunlight from outside shining through the threads bunched around his ears and temples, and his skin peeking from under his fringe. Harry wished to run his hand through it, smell it. He wondered how it smelled: most likely sweet, he told himself, like coconut shampoo, or maybe vanilla. 

All the while, bare minutes had passed, and more than half an hour was still to go before they reached the station in Paris. They stopped examining each other as intently, and while Louis tried his best to ignore Harry and began to look outside the window behind Harry’s shoulder, Harry, still, kept staring shamelessly, now more out of spite than to figure Louis out.

Louis was scarily aware of his eyes on him the whole time, partially because he was still facing him and could see his eyes, not just feel them, at the corner of his vision, but mostly because ever since Harry had sat down next to him an hour or so ago, he had become terribly, terribly aware of him.

While Harry watched Louis, he wondered how old the boy was. He reckoned he could not be very old, both from the looks of it, and because Harry had immediately referred to him as ‘boy’ when he had sat down next to him. He was already about to gather up his wits and ask, when he was interrupted.        

                   “How old are you?”  
Louis was looking at him with his eyes narrowed and head tilted just slightly to the left, looking exactly like a fox. He was moving his mouth slowly, puckering it up before pulling it from one side to the other and letting up again, relaxing. He straightened his back and with that his head.

Harry smoothed his shirt down his stomach, not tearing his eyes from Louis once, and spoke, then.  
                   “’M twenty,” he waited a moment, to see Louis’ reaction, “What about you?”  
Louis was smirking at him, and even dared glance down to his body for just an instant. When Harry’s words came to him, he smiled at Harry, a little friendlier. 

The feeling so inherent to teenagers – feeling like an absolute baby near people even slightly older than you – hit him, but he pushed it down and said it, with not a falter in his voice.  
                   “I’m seventeen.”  
Harry was not surprised, if he was honest. With just a bit of a stretch he could have even said sixteen, but seven- or eighteen was what he had been aiming for, most of the time, too. He was just about to break the nosy-barrier and ask Louis what had him going to Paris, when the train suddenly stopped.

They heard the sound of it, first. The quiet screech of the metallic wheels on the rails, and the feeling as the train slowly but surely began to slow. They gave each other a quick, frowning look, before completely in sync seizing towards the window, to catch a glimpse of what was happening. 

The train had just come to a full stop, and while Louis remained intently staring out of the window, with a deep frown engraved on his forehead, Harry turned around to look around the interior of the train.

People sitting all around them were looking around, speaking quietly to each other, wondering what had caused the train to suddenly stop. Harry spent another moment looking around, waiting for maybe a ride assistant to appear and tell what the hell had happened. From the corner of his eye Harry noticed an older man looking at his watch, and mimicking his wrist movement Harry checked his. It was a few minutes after half past noon. A voice at the back of head reminded Harry he had a meeting with a possible new band member at two o’clock. He really hoped this would not drag on.  
He leaned back up to Louis, to see outside. 

                   “Anything’s happened?” he asked.  
Louis shook his head.

Harry was leaning over Louis, with one large hand gripping the small table, the other leaning on the thin edge of the window, so he was barricading Louis’ body against the glass. Louis swore he could feel his breath on the back of his head as he leaned closer, his forehead almost touching the glass above Louis. He really should have minded Harry being as close to him.

Just as a man in an uniform ran past their small area of vision through the window, the speakers, that should have been calling the arrival in Paris in just twenty minutes or so, cracked, and after a tense moment of utter silence as all the passenger in the car turned their heads towards the four white speakers in all corners of the carriage, a sound began.

It was rapid-fire French, spoken by a low male voice, the overly cheery tone not very well hiding his anxiety.  
As soon as the speaking had begun, Harry had moved away from the window and sat back in his seat. After giving a final glance to what was going on outside – he could just barely see people near front of the train – Louis turned in his seat to look at Harry. 

He was looking up at the speakers, listening intently. It was all still in French, and Louis wondered if Harry could understand it. There was a heavy vertical crease etched between his eyebrows, his lips in a slight pout. He was gripping the edge of his seat tightly, his knuckles slightly white. 

Louis pulled his legs underneath himself and sat down comfortably, facing Harry’s body halfway. He held onto the edge of his seat, but when he lowered his hand, looked down, careful not to touch Harry’s.

Finally, the text in French ended, and the same male voice began to speak in slower, uncomfortably accented English. He still sounded nervous.

He started by greeting the passengers, and proceeded then to explain what had happened. Slowly, word after word, he unveiled, that while their train and all of its passengers were safe, the train riding before them, that had been turning onto a different lane, had driven off the rails and therefore they could not continue their travel until the train was moved back onto the rails, because, obviously, they could not pass it. He also mentioned that no one in the other train had been hurt, and while it lifted the weight little, Harry could not stop thinking that this would take hours, meaning he would not make it to the meeting, and-

He tried not to think of it, knowing no matter how much he stressed over it, he could not change a thing. At least the man over the loudspeaker had said they would be granted back fifty per cent of the train ticket.

Louis, on the other hand, was little fazed by the sudden elongation of his train ride – especially if through it he got half of the money he had spent on his train ticket back. His delight may have had something to do with getting to spend a little more time with a certain lovely-smelling, curly-haired seatmate, too, but he paid no mind to that. 

He was busying himself looking at him, watching Harry purposelessly thumbing at his bottom lip. He looked nervous to Louis, as he fished his phone out of his pocket, and letting his lip be for a moment, tapped something into it quickly. He hovered his thumb over what Louis thought to be the send button on most likely a text message, before touching it. With an annoyed, tired sigh, he shoved his phone back in his pocket. 

Harry’s head had slowly, as a blunt, but still apparent throb, begun to ache once more. He rubbed his fingertips over his forehead slowly, before moving them further and massaging his scalp. After pulling away his hand he was suddenly hit with some kind memory of having packed some painkillers – or thrown a pack in his bag, rather, but still.

Full of hope, he hastily lifted his hat off his bag and held up his ukulele, so it was not leaning on his bag anymore, and pulled the large bag in his lap. That movement itself caused his brain to thrum against the inside of his skull, and startled from the pain, he breathed in sharply through his teeth, making a slight hissing noise.

Louis frowned hearing it, realising Harry’s head must really have hurt – he had figured it out when Harry had spent a while massaging his forehead. He remembered he had thrown a box of some ibuprofen in his bag, but decided to see if maybe Harry found some of his own from his bag.

After rummaging around for a while, tossing most of the insides of the bag on the half-empty seat next to him, he found it. He fished it out with a content smile and actually pressed the pack to his lips, smooching the cold, thin cardboard. 

Louis could not help but giggle, watching as Harry pulled the box away from his lips and slowly, almost tenderly, ran his thumb over it, before pulling out the plastic with the actual pills and carelessly popping two pills out of the case into his hand. He looked at Louis, and smirked, before realising he had taken out the pills before the water bottle, and seeing the mess in front of and next to him, he knew he would need two hands for that.

He handed the small white pills to Louis.  
                   “Can you hold ‘em for a sec? I forgot the water,” he said, finishing off with a quick laugh. 

Louis smiled, and mumbling an agreement took the tablets. He closed his palm around them and held his hand in the air, palm turned upwards, waiting, as Harry threw some of the stuff back into his bag, before his water bottle emerged from the bottom of the pile. He unscrewed the cap and turned to Louis, who opened his palm. 

Harry picked the small pills, fitting two of them between two large fingers at the same time with ease, and finally put them in his mouth, jugging down almost half of the water in the bottle to down them. “Thanks,” he mumbled, screwing the cap back on the bottle and throwing it in the bag, still not looking away from Louis. 

He threw the last few things from the seat into his bag just as the loudspeakers cracked again, and the same male voice began to speak. As before, he spoke first in French, and both Harry and Louis prepared themselves to ignore him for a few minutes, before he began to spoke in English, but just after a few sentences, he finished, moving onto their preferred language. 

Greeting the passengers as usual, he informed them the team to get the train back on the rails had arrived, but from this moment on, it would definitely not take less than one and a half hours.

Harry sighed deeply as the loudspeaker was turned off, and shook his head slowly, rubbing his hands over his eyes. Louis was about to ask him why he was so anxious about the delay- or really, just why he was going to Paris – when Harry pulled his phone out, and instead of sending a text like before, actually dialled a number and brought the phone to his ear. 

He waited a few seconds, before smiling suddenly.  
                   “Hey, pal, how are you?” he said.  
The line cracked, and for a moment Harry could only hear snippets of what Zayn was saying, until it finally steadied and he heard just enough to make out Zayn was ‘good, bro, great.’  
                   “Great, man, now look,” Harry spoke, his face falling a little as he continued, “The thing with the train, yeah? The text was kinda vague, I’m sorry, like,” he coughed with his mouth closed, thinking of a good wording, “Basically, there was this train in front of us-”   
He stopped suddenly, as Zayn, on the other line, called out to Perrie, and only after another moment or two of rustling, made a noise indicating he was listening again.  
                   “Listen, Zayn-”  
He was interrupted once again. It was not Zayn on the phone, anymore, but Perrie, chittering quickly and incomprehensibly about how they could not wait for him to get there. Harry sighed, before opening his mouth again, his tone final and sure.  
                   “Yeah, Pez, I can’t wait to see you all too, that’s great. I really need to talk to Zayn now, please.”

He waited a second. Perrie must have kissed the phone screen, because suddenly it rustled and then Zayn was on the other line, giggling, reminding Harry not to expect a real kiss. Harry ignored it, glad he finally had Zayn on the line.  
                   “Fucking finally,” he mumbled, sighing again, “Look, Z, I’m not gonna make it to the meeting, okay,”  -pause, Zayn had gone quiet: he was actually listening, for once- “I know it’s important, but there’s shit up with the train and I can’t bloody jump out and walk there, can I, yeah?” 

He licked his lips and switched the phone to his other ear, peering at Louis from the corner of his eye for a moment, grinning with only his eyes. 

Zayn’s first question had been if he was safe, and Harry actually smiled at that, before reassuring him that it was not actually their train that had fucked up, but the one before them. He explained that they would not move on until another one and a half hour, or so the guy over the speaker had said, and made Zayn promise him to actually tell him everything about the guy they were going to meet, and possibly send pictures and/or videos.

They spoke for a little longer, Zayn asking if maybe they could simply post-pone the meeting until Harry made it to Paris, for after all he was the frontman of the band, as well as the only one yet to meet the new guy – the others had already, even if unofficially – but Harry insisted on the others having the meeting. Their band may not have had a record deal, but they were nothing if not professionals, as Harry loved to remind his bandmates.

After a while, Zayn agreed, but made Harry promise to phone as soon as his feet hit Paris ground. With that, they hung up, Harry’s heart feeling stones lighter than before the phone call – it really was great having a band with your best mate, (and Zayn at that. He could only imagine being in the same band as Liam.) 

Chuckling to himself, he fit his phone into his pocket once more, and smiling, turned to Louis. Before he had a chance to speak, Louis stole the opportunity.  
                   “Everything alright?” he asked, face cheerful. Harry nodded  
                   “Yeah, now it is. Kinda shit that I’m gonna miss the meeting, but we’ll be fine ‘s long as Zayn’s there. The guy I was gonna meet seems like a nice chap anyway, so...”

When he finished, Louis was frowning. He had not really understood the context, and therefore did not like the idea of Harry meeting some guy. (For a moment he wondered when he had stopped ignoring thoughts like that, and started facing them.) Without even thinking about it, he asked.  
                   “What are you meeting him for, anyways?” he said, smiling sweetly. Not even noticing himself, despite his eyes switching down for a second when he felt a tinge of pain, he was picking on the skin next to his right thumb. Harry missed the small movements, too. He was too invested in what Louis had said.         

                   “Oh, yeah! I have a band, and we need someone to play keys ‘cause of the new songs, and Zayn had a friend of a friend, so I was gonna meet him today, hear him play, to see if he fits,” Harry spoke excitedly, though despite everything, his voice still crawled over the words slowly, like maybe honey over bread.  
                   “That’s great!” Louis said sincerely. He made a pause, before, with a little giggle, asking, “You’re not famous, are you?”  
Harry laughed, shaking his head.  
                   “In my dreams, I am,” he said, turning onto his side to face Louis, as before, heaving his leg up on the seat. He leant his head on the back of the seat on his right, and smiled at Louis. For just a moment, they fell into a silence similar to the one they had sat in before. It did not stretch out, this time, though, as Louis spoke up.  
                   “So, what’s your band like?” he asked. Just as he finished, he felt his stomach tighten very slightly with hunger, but he decided to ignore it for the time-being.  
Harry had been waiting for that question. He could never get enough of talking about his music.  
                   “We’re called Blaze,” he said, scratching down his neck, waiting for Louis’ reaction. Louis smiled, letting out a puff of air through is nose, indicating a chuckle, and nodded slightly for Harry to go on.  
                   “My mate Zayn and I originally created it, and right now there’s three of us constantly, and when we play live occasionally people play with us.”  
  
As Louis kept nodding, he went on. Harry told him, how at first, he and Zayn had started experimenting with guitars and playing on the streets of London, in Soho and Camden – anywhere someone might have actually listened. Then one day, Josh had come around, with his drum kit and rehearsal rooms, and one night, when they had been smoking pot in the studio, – Harry leaned in close to say that part, mostly because it was an excuse to lean close to Louis – banging on the drums and pulling on the guitar strings aimlessly, Josh had asked if Harry and Zayn had ever thought of a name for the band. They informed him they had, actually. Things like The Raconteurs and The Grateful Alive and The Black Stripes, but never anything serious. Was it the pot or just because, they did not know, Harry told Louis, but they had laughed over the names, especially The Grateful Alive, for ages afterwards. Sometimes they still did, actually, he added.

After they had stopped laughing, though, and wordlessly smoked for a while, Josh had suddenly, with no context or explanation, blurted out the word ‘blaze.’ At first Zayn and Harry himself, too, had begun ranting about ‘420’ and ‘blaze it, motherfucker’ jokes, potheads as they were, but Josh had stopped them, saying that was not what he had meant. What he had meant, had been that ‘blaze’ could be a potential band name. Zayn of course had disagreed strongly, at first, as he lived by the rule of ‘never let anyone know of your smoking habits, ever’, - and mighty well he followed, it too, Harry remarked - but Harry, who had liked the sound of it, and believed in his divine right of having the last word when it came to decisions over the band, partially due to the fact he did most of the singing, and partially due to his arrogance, managed to convince Zayn to change his mind, in a while. And change his mind he did, as Harry reminisced: these days, he never stopped talking about how proud he was to be part of such a pothead band.

Harry made a pause in his storytelling, there, allowing them to laugh for a second and after Louis asked, reassure him, that despite everything, Zayn was a wonderful enough person to actually not be one of those people who only ever talk about weed. He also talked about bass riffs, his artwork, and his hair, too. Louis honestly wished he could meet the guy. As he was about to word that, his stomach, acting as the brain-to-mouth filter he was lacking, interrupted with a loud grumble. 

Louis closed his pre-speaking open mouth in shock, his eyes going wide as he looked at Harry for a moment, startled, before clutching his stomach and looking down at it. It took Harry a moment, but before Louis had the chance to say something he was laughing, a rumbling, loud sound filling their seat. Louis stared at him incredulously for a moment, arms crossed over his chest. Had Harry looked, he would have seemed annoyed, or even cross at Harry, for laughing at him, but Harry did not look, and Louis did not really mind either, and as Harry managed to inhale badly, resulting in a snort, Louis joined in, laughing. 

They laughed for a while, before Harry finally sat up straight, and wiping his eyes turned serious slowly. Louis followed suit a moment later, still smiling uncontrollably. They looked at each other for a moment, a few final giggles erupting from both of them, before Harry turned around and pulled his bag in his lap.  
                   “Lunch time?” he asked cheerfully. Louis shrugged, but dug his own bag out, too, from where it had sagged underneath his seat. By the time Louis managed to get it out - one of the shoulder straps had tangled around the seat legs – Harry was already untangling the neatly tied knot on the plastic bag around his box of salad. 

Louis looked at him, watching as Harry pulled the box out of the bag and scrunched it up, before letting it slip back in his bag. He puffed a little chuckle, seeing Harry had taped a fork to the lid of the box. Harry looked up momentarily, his face asking why Louis had made that noise. Louis pointed to the fork on the lid and stated the obvious - Harry had taped it there - before shrugging and turning to his own bag.  Harry made a noise of annoyance, but did not say anything as he was preoccupied by scratching the edge of the tape off the box to rip off the rest of it. 

As Harry did that, Louis opened his own bag and pulled out his last sandwich, soggy looking in the box, and soft and spongy as he pulled it out, in his hands. He brought it to his nose, sniffing, and immediately his stomach grumbled, this time less loud, thankfully. Realising he was hungry enough not to really care about the taste and consistency of the food, he lowered the sandwich from his nose to his mouth and bit into it hard, ripping off almost half of the sandwich. 

It was moist and unpleasant in his mouth, but it fed him, so he kept eating, devouring the sandwich in bare minutes, until he was left with nothing but two sets of soggy fingers. He was about to plop them in his mouth carelessly and suck them clean, as he usually would have, when he remembered Harry. He peered at him, and found Harry looking down at his salad, chewing on what looked like an overly-large mouthful, even for his mouth. 

He was not looking, and in hindsight, would not have noticed Louis, maybe if only from the far side of his consciousness, but unknowing of that, Louis carefully dug out a tissue from his bag, and wiped his hands. He was glad the sandwich had not been very tasty; otherwise it would have been a shame to waste all of that stuff on his fingers. 

Realising there was not a place to throw the dirty napkin, he, shaking his head, shoved it back in his bag with a huff, wondering if he should eat one of his burgers, too, or some salad, as Harry was. 

Speaking of whom, was gleefully bobbing his head to some tune only he could hear, sitting cross-legged with his side to the back of the seat, dabbing at the greens in the plastic box in his hands as Louis looked up. From the corner of his eye he noticed Harry’s dark brown pair of leather boots, and lowering his eyes to his feet, he saw he had pulled off his socks, too. 

Chuckling, he spared a last glance to his backpack and pulled out a burger. It was one of those cold, dry ones in plastic packaging, but he was only a little less hungry than before and still could not have fully been bothered. 

Harry made a noise, suddenly, and Louis looked up to see him staring at him, a piece of leaf hanging out between his lips, nose scrunched up.  
                   “How can you eat those things?” he asked, pointing to Louis’ burger with his fork. Louis shrugged, and having freed the bread from the plastic, bit into it harshly. It was much juicier and more tasty than he had expected, and with a smile on his face he downed it just as quickly as the sandwich, ignoring Harry grimacing at him every once in a while. 

At one point Harry held out his salad, offered Louis to take some greens, but with a quick laugh, wiping grease off his face, Louis declined. He remembered the train of thought he had had before, when buying the burgers, - Harry groaned, realising Louis had more of those things - of not wanting to seem a healthy eater, no matter what, and he told Harry about it, receiving another disapproving shake of the head. Louis found Harry’s reaction immensely entertaining. 

By the time the thought came to him, he had already finished the burger, but thinking of the two spares he had in his bag, - they had been cheap, almost catchpenny - Louis got an idea.                   

                   “I bet I could change your mind about the burgers, though, if you took a bite of one,” he said, leaning on the side of the seat with his arms crossed over his chest. Harry had just been putting away his half-empty salad box, saving the rest for later, and as Louis spoke up, he looked up, his face contorted in a small, condescending smile.  
                   “Maybe, but I’m not taking a bite,” he replied after a moment.  
                   “We’ll see,” Louis said, ticking his right eyebrow. Harry looked like he wanted to say something, but instead he shook his head with a smile, leaving Louis be for a while. 

He hooked a finger under the hairband around his wrist and pulled it over his palm and fingers quickly, wincing momentarily when the cloth covered rubber dragged the back of his hand painfully. He brought it to his hair, and with a few quick movements secured his hair into a loose bun above the nape of his neck. 

Louis watched him the whole time, trying desperately to conceal his wonder. Harry had looked great, obviously, with his hair around his face, but the bun, freeing it from the covers around it and accentuating his strong neck and wide shoulders, had Louis’ stomach throwing cartwheels. He added running his fingers over his neck to the list of things he wished he could do to Harry, and after a moment, to hell with it, kissing his neck, too. 

                   “So, lunch break’s over, huh?” Harry’s voice broke Louis out of his reverie. He nodded, hastily, seemingly never fully himself around the man.  
Harry brought his hands to his face, the tips of his fingers touching the skin under his nose, palms and fingers brought together. For a moment, it looked as if he was deeply in thought, or in prayer.

From behind his fingers, he spoke.  
                   “What about you? What do you do, besides school?”  
It took Louis a moment, but quickly enough to go unnoticed, he realised Harry had picked up their discontinued conversation. He thought through his options, wondering what to say to make his life sound even remotely interesting, while not giving away too much. He did not need Harry to realise he had run away from home. Honestly, he did not want to realise he had run away from home. 

                   “I’m still in school, so that’s pretty much it,” Louis said, accompanied by a shrug, “Friends and family, that stuff takes away most of my free time, so... Haven’t got any cool hobbies, except for maybe drama, but, every other kid does that, right?” 

Harry smiled, nodding, and with a slight raise of his eyebrows prompted Louis to continue. Only Louis was not sure at all, how to. He could have told him about his family, he guessed, but he decided not to, more so because he had rather not thought about them, at the moment. Second best were friends but that, too, was not the most favourable of topics.   
He realised he was pretty much at a dead-end there, but before it could get awkward, Harry smiled, his voice warm and accepting as he began to speak.  
                    “It’s alright if you like, don’t wanna talk too much, I don’t mind. I was super shy, when I was seventeen, so... You’re already much better at this than I am,” he said, finishing with a chuckle. Louis wanted to say something about hating it when older people said things along the lines of ‘when I was your age’ or ‘when I was younger,’ but the way Harry said it, along with the friendly little chuckle and those goddamn dimples, - Louis noticed them, really noticed them, for the first time, and a part of him burst - he could do nothing but smile, and shrug. 

                   “You don’t mind if I like, keep talking, though?” Harry asked. Louis felt it was incredible, how concerned Harry was with keeping him comfortable. He wished he could simply tell him he was absolutely content, but would be even more so if he could maybe sit in Harry’s lap, or hold his hand, or something. He did not such thing, unfortunately. Instead, he nodded, and let Harry proceed.  
                   “So, what kind of music does Blaze make?” Louis asked after a moment of silence, where Harry had brought his hands to his face the same way he had before, thinking of what to say.

He smiled when Louis spoke, glad he wanted to hear more about his band – as aforementioned, he could not get enough of talking about it. Only, he was unsure how to answer Louis’ question; their genre had always been something they ached their heads over.  
                   “We’re like, indie, you know, but everyone is, these days. We do a bit of everything,” he explained, one hand playing with the neck of his t-shirt, the other scratching under his chin. “We experiment a lot, stuff like that. Josh, our drummer, remember him?”

Louis nodded, not wanting to interrupt Harry’s train of thought.  
                   “Well, his dad is like, a super-millionaire businessman or something like that, so pretty much, he has his own studio, and thanks to him we have like, super awesome amps and mics and stuff, ‘cause he can just ask his dad and he’ll get it, so we try a lot of new things and stuff. Most of the time, when we’re supposed to be writing, or something, we just dick around with the technology, it’s a lot of fun!” Harry spoke with excitement pouring out of his voice, the timbre of his voice much higher than before. Louis was stunned. 

He let Harry go on for a while, about some songs he had written, and some of his favourite effects. There was one he loved and always wanted to use, but it made his already low voice even lower, and Zayn said someone with bad hearing might not be able to hear it, so he never let him use it. Louis laughed there, letting Harry know Zayn was probably right. Harry frowned, first, and pouted then, staying like that for some time, while Louis laughed even harder, and then harder than he thought he had in a while, when Harry began speaking to him, voice as low as he could muster.

When he had finished laughing and hiding his face in his hands, when Harry would not stop shouting, despite the people around them giving them looks, he finally, wiping his eyes, tried to speak, too, tried to make his voice low, mocking Harry in a horrible, over-the-top low manner of speaking and completely unnecessary hand gestures, but could get out no more than three words, before he burst into another fit of laughter. This time, Harry laughed too, screaming, screeching, rather, out loudly, before doubling over himself, hiding his head in his hands. 

They spent quite a while like that - laughing their heads off for some time, then calming down and looking up at each other, only to burst again. Finally, shaking himself, as if to get off the laughter, Harry sat up straight, dragging his hands down his face first, and touching behind his head lightly, then, to check his bun. 

Louis looked up too, when he realised Harry had stopped laughing, and calmed down slowly, taking more time than Harry had.  
                   “I sound nothing like that, though,” Harry said after a moment, sounding strangely offended. For a moment, Louis worried if he had actually made him feel bad, but just as he was about to ask, Harry opened his own mouth. 

In a high-pitched, annoying cockney accent, he spoke.  
                   “Me, Louis, however, I sound exactly like this!” he said.

Louis opened his mouth at him and brought his palms to his chest, feigning offence. As Harry went on, talking about how he was seventeen and ate gross, unhealthy burgers, Louis closed his mouth, lowering his hands from his chest. For a moment it crossed his mind, if it was too early in their relationship to swat at Harry, but before he could dwell on that, his hand moved, and lightly he hit Harry’s forearm, just as he was pretending to swipe through his fringe. (Exactly the way Louis did, by the way, though Louis would never admit that.)

Harry stopped short, looking down at his hand, his mouth open a little. It did not actually hurt, but still, he brought it to his body, rubbing the spot Louis had hit. The movements were shallow enough to let Louis know he was not actually hurt, though, so he allowed himself to only laugh, and run his thumb under his fringe, just for the effect.

After that, it took some time for them to calm down, and actually get back on track with a conversation, but finally, they did, and Harry told Louis more about his band, and after a while, his life. What he studied at university, his family, his friends. Slowly but surely, without even realising it, Louis opened up, too, telling Harry about his mum and little sisters, and step-dad he felt like was his real father. (Harry never asked about his real father, and Louis felt like he had never met anyone more amazing before.) Once or twice, never straight-forward, Harry tried to ask Louis why he was on a train to Paris, alone, on a school day, but Louis managed to side-track, and as Harry realised that, he stopped asking, not wanting to be rude.

Somehow, they managed to come full circle, ending up on the topic of music again. They had been talking about their favourite artists, Louis trying to convince Harry pop music is not utter shit – with how accepting and tolerant he had claimed to be before, Louis really was about to lose his temper – when Harry suddenly, with an over-the-top roll of his eyes, turned around, and after a minute or so of shuffling turned back around to face Louis.

This time, he was holding his ukulele, the instrument looking even more impossibly tiny in his large hands. He flicked his right middle finger down the four strings harshly, the instrument eliciting a loud, shrill sound. Louis startled, drawing back abruptly. He watched as Harry’s fingers moved over the strings and neck quickly, causing strange, whiny noises, before he looked up, a goofy smile painting his face.  
                   “You any good at singing?” he asked.

Louis could sing, he knew that, but there was no way in hell he was going to do that in front of a hot near-stranger, especially with about fifty-something other people in a ear’s distance. Before he could answer, though, Harry shrugged, flicking over the strings again, but this time softer, playing an actual chord. He frowned, the chord had not quite sounded right, but his fingers were all correctly placed, so a string must have been out of tune. Checking which of the four was to blame, he spoke.  
                   “You’re probably not as good as I am,” he said sharply, surprising Louis deeply: a snarky, mean comment like that sounded so out of character, even with Louis’ little knowledge of Harry, he could not help but be put off. After just a moment, having seen Louis’ expression, he corrected himself, though, proving to Louis he knew at least the basics of the lad’s personality well enough, for less than three hours since meeting him.

Eyebrows high on his forehead, face sincere, Harry spoke, “I didn’t mean it, I swear,” he let go of the body of the ukulele and brought his hand to his face, “I didn’t offend you, did I? I was trying to be funny, I’m so sorry.”

It took Louis a moment to realise Harry really was worried he had offended him. With a soft laugh and a loose hand movement in Harry’s direction, Louis shook his head.  
                   “No, oh my god, don’t worry!” Louis said happily, not wanting Harry to think he had actually been offended. Harry smiled, almost coyly, before shrugging and, turning back to his ukulele, mumbling, more to himself than to Louis.

                   “I always do that,” he said, “I always say stupid things without meaning to, without thinking-” Before he could finished, Louis interrupted him, laughing freely, but stopping, when Harry looked at him, frowning deeply.  
                   “Harry, I don’t mind at all! I say things like that all the time!” he said. With not much thought, he reached out and gently patted the side of Harry’s knee. Harry flinched at the touch momentarily, looking at Louis in surprise. As he saw him smiling, he smiled, too, shrugging at his short-lived feeling of upset. 

                   “I’m just a big baby,” he said, but there was no hurt behind his words this time around. Louis chuckled for a moment, the side of his face rubbing against the seat back from where he had leaned back against it after touching Harry.  
                   “I think it’s cute,” he said.  
Harry raised his eyebrows at him, a smile flowing over his lips slowly. He shrugged then, and began strumming on his ukulele, less absent-minded than before. Later, he would wish he would have told Louis he thought he was cute, then, already. Instead, picking up the instrument and strumming on it quietly, he asked Louis again, if he was any good at singing. 

                   “I’m alright, I ‘spose,” Louis said, looking not into Harry’s eyes, but at his hands. “You’re probably better, anyway,” he said sheepishly. He really did not want to sing in front of Harry. Fortunately, he only smiled and did not pester Louis into singing with him. Himself, though, he kept strumming for a while, before starting to hum along quietly. In the tumult around the train car, Louis could barely hear him at first. Partially too, because he was looking down at the instrument, instead of Louis. 

He looked up at Louis, and he realised Harry was mouthing words. As Harry saw Louis could not hear him, he spoke up a little, and just like that, suddenly, Louis could hear him sing. He did not think he had ever heard the song before, but it sounded cheerful, even if rather slow-paced. Harry was singing lowly, looking between Louis and the strings of his ukulele every few moments. There was a frown of concentration between his eyes, but the corners of his lips were tucked just so slightly upward, that Louis knew, had his mouth not been preoccupied, he would have been beaming.

His voice got just a little louder as he reached what must have been the chorus of the song. Louis could not make out the words, as he only pronounced some of them, choosing to hum most of the time. What he could make out, though, was the timbre of his voice. He had a low voice, Louis had noticed that listening to him speaking, but when singing it somehow sounded even lower, even if the notes he sung were not very low.

His voice sounded raspy, not really very much different from how he spoke. The only thing Louis felt, was that while, when speaking, Harry had a rather monotonous voice, when he sung, it was completely over-flowing with emotion. As said before, the song was a rather cheerful sounding one and with the high pitched backing of the ukulele, no song could really sound very sad – still, Harry managed to drawl over the words so slowly and emotionally, making Louis feel like he absolutely loved the song, despite not knowing it, and despite Harry singing it impromptu, with nothing but his ukulele.

He finished soon afterwards, laying his instrument on his lap and shyly looking to Louis for a reaction. Beaming, Louis did a show of giving him an applause.  
                   “You are such a good singer, what the fuck, honestly,” he said, and meant it, too.  
Harry chuckled awkwardly, and shrugged, but thanked Louis earnestly after a moment. Louis could only shrug and repeat himself. He really was a great singer. 

Harry spent another few minutes playing his ukulele, but did not open his mouth again. People complimenting him always made him shy, as strange as it was. When he noticed Louis having begun to look around aimlessly, rummaging through his bag only to put it down after a moment, he realised Louis must have felt awkward, so quickly, maybe even too much so, he pulled the instrument bag from behind himself and laying his ukulele in it, zipped it up. He laid it back on his bag, mindful it stayed in place, and turned around once more after a moment, still peering over his shoulder to make sure the ukulele and its bag did not fall. 

When he looked at Louis, the boy was smiling at him timidly, playing with his fingers in his lap. His eyebrows rose higher on his forehead as Harry looked at him, his face tilting upwards just a little in a way of greeting Harry. 

Neither of them really knew what to say, but in lieu of an embarrassing silence, Harry spoke.  
                   “So, you didn’t really tell me much about yourself,” he said. “No pressure, of course! I wouldn’t want you to feel uncomfortable,” he added after a moment.  
Louis smiled happily, charmed to his very core. Shrugging, he began to speak about what he figured was his equivalent to Harry’s band.

                   “Well,” –he was forced to make a pause when some loud rumble came from outside; they both leaned closer to the window to look out, only to see nothing – “Erm, besides school,” he continued, “I spend quite some time in my drama class, with the kids from there. It’s a lot of fun! Most of my best friends are from there, actually, ‘cept for Stan – he’s my best friend – I’ve known him for as long as I can remember, to be honest.”

He smiled at the memory of Stan, feeling the nostalgic mindset – much alike the one he had felt a while ago – set over him. He told Harry a little about his childhood adventures with Stan, but chose not to dwell on the topic for long, not wanting to let the negative aspects of nostalgia show. He spoke instead, about his other friends, mentioning Ollie and Hannah, and others he spent most of his time with, even though he had already spoken a little about them, before. After a while, he found himself speaking again of his family.

And there it was, after having spoken for a quarter of an hour or so, he felt the tight, nearly physical grip of homesickness in his chest, and had to stop short. He knew, he had to say something soon, or else Harry would have realised something was wrong, but he couldn’t help it, when he turned to the window and sighed deeply, damning his hormones for making him one to cry easily. A minute or even more had passed, since he had last spoken, and he was already waiting for Harry to ask something, but he did not.

He let another minutes pass, and then, realising Louis was not going to go on, he smiled and lightly, tentatively patted Louis on the back of his shoulder, turned towards Harry as he faced away from him.  
                   “It’s okay, Lou,” he said and before he could go on, Louis turned, his eyebrows raised, smiling lightly. Harry smiled back and shrugged carelessly.  
                   “We resorting to nicknames now?” he asked playfully, sitting back in his seat. Only then did Harry realise he had, in fact, resorted to a nickname.  
                   “Oh- I didn’t even realise!” he exclaimed, shaking his head and shrugging once more.  
Louis looked at him for a moment, pouting, before he smirked and said, “It’s okay, Harold.”

Harry frowned immediately, grimacing then, his mouth opening in a quiet huff.  
               “It’s not even shorter than my real name,” he said, “doesn’t make any sense.”  
Louis raised his eyebrows at him for a moment, before turning away to the ground, dragging his backpack into his lap. He rummaged through it, aimlessly, as he had multiple times before, but just as he was about to let it drop to the ground again, his phone rang.

Harry watched as his hand cramped around the edge of the open bag mouth, his knuckles turning white. Before he could collect himself, Harry had the chance to glance up at his face.  
His mouth was open, ever so slightly, and his eyes were bulging out of their sockets, his face full of absolute terror. Gradually, his expression loosened, but as he slowly slid his hand into his bag to pull out his phone, his other hand still gripped onto the edge of the bag tightly enough his skin looked as if it was going to rip at his knuckles.

With shaking hands, he pulled his phone from the bag and turned it around in his hands, to see the screen. Blinking on it, in brightly illuminated white letters, stood the name Stan. Louis closed his eyes, willing his hands to stop shaking; he had known this would happen sooner or later, someone would call at some point, but he had still not been ready for it, no matter what he had thought. Inhaling deeply, he opened his eyes, and biting his lips, clicked the mute icon underneath the dialler ID.

He let the phone sit in his hand for a few moments, inhaling and exhaling deeply once more, before he scoffed quietly and after turning off his phone, let it fall into his bag, damning himself for not having turned off the phone before.

Wary, he turned to look at Harry, unknowing of what to expect. When his eyes finally reached Harry’s face, he found it warm and smiling, just as it had been for a good ninety-nine per cent of the train ride.  
                   “Everything good?” Harry asked.  
Louis shrugged and nodded, still scared of Harry asking him anything further. An awkward half a minute or so passed, where neither of them said anything, Louis scared of Harry asking him anything and Harry wanting to let Louis speak up first, so he knew he was comfortable. As no such thing happened, Harry puffed out a laugh, and leaning into his seat, spoke.  
                   “So, erm, where were we?” he asked, his voice as light as his demeanour.

At that moment, Louis realised he was not going to ask anything, and he could have given Harry his first born, had he wanted it. What they had been talking about, though, Louis did remember, only he did not really want to keep talking about that, especially after the fresh memory of the phone call.

This time around, it was not Harry who saved them from the embarrassing situation, as he had many times before, but the train conductor. Over the loudspeaker, the familiar male voice began to speak in French and even though neither Harry or Louis could understand a word, they turned to listen, preparing for him to speak in English.

After only a few sentences, the line cracked and he greeted the passengers once more, this time around in English. He mentioned some technical issues that neither of the young men would have understood nor cared about, and said then, that the train before them had been lifted onto the rails, and would be ready to go on in fifteen minutes or so. Meaning that in another twenty minutes, their train would be driving on towards Paris, so they would reach the city in less than an hour, if everything went according to plan, which it hopefully would. He spoke shortly, too, about the refunding of the tickets, but after they had heard the news of the train reaching Paris in under an hour, both Harry and Louis had stopped listening, choosing instead to look at each other and cheer, high-fiving.

They sat back in their seats, almost ecstatic with the knowledge of finally reaching their destination. In the flurry of Harry telling Louis everything about his plans once he reached Paris, and chit-chatting generally, as they had before, mixed with looking out the window every few minutes in the senseless hope of seeing any signs of their imminent movement, the twenty or so minutes passed in a blink of an eye.

Harry had been telling Louis about another stupid thing he and his friends had got themselves into a few years back, when suddenly, a loud, slow puff of air sounded from outside, as if the train had let out a breath it had been holding, and it gradually began moving. Harry stopped his words short, looking at Louis with wonder in his eyes, as his open mouth stretched into a smile.

Louis smiled too, his mouth opening wide, and they sat like that for a moment, stranded, smiling uncontrollably. As the train unhurriedly picked up speed, they broke out of their little trance and leaned to the window to look out.

Once again, Louis found himself pressed against the window, even more than before, with Harry’s body covering his own, his arms bracketing his, trapping him where he was. At first, Harry had one hand on the small desk and the other on the back of Louis’ seat, but as they watched for longer, the trees beginning to rush past them swiftly, he leaned onto the small edge of the sill, pressing up against Louis even more.

He shifted, and suddenly Louis was properly squeezed between Harry and the window, his back flush with his chest. Louis opened his eyes wide, and giggling breathlessly – as it was quite hard to breathe with his lungs pushed together – tried to turn his head in order to look at Harry.

                   “Mate,” he said, trying to push Harry off of him. It was not that he minded being this close to Harry, he was just finding it hard to breathe, after a good three minutes. “I can’t really breathe with you all over me like that.”  
                   “Oh,” Harry mumbled and moved a little away, so that Louis could sit up straight and not have his organs jammed. He stayed close, though, and without the physical discomfort Louis realised just how much he appreciated how they were sitting. If he arched his neck just a little, he could feel Harry’s breath on the back of it, and looking at his hand on the edge of the window, he could see his pinky, barely a centimetre from Harry’s hand.

Unheedingly, Louis moved his arm and just like that the sides of their palms touched, his little finger covering Harry’s index finger. 

Harry tensed, but internally welcoming the touch just as much as Louis, calmed himself down after a moment, actually leaning closer to Louis, so his chest touched with Louis’ back once more, without pressing him against the window and hurting him, this time. In a silence similar to the ones from before, for it was not awkward, but with a dash of something new, something neither of them could give a name to just yet, added, they sat for a while and watched the countryside run past.

It was Harry who moved first, simply because Louis was stranded between Harry’s hands, and when he did, it was slowly, as if he did not want to – which was true, of course. He let his hand slip from next to Louis’ first, letting it fall into the small free space between Louis and the back of his seat. He sat back, too, properly into his seat, but did that even more slowly, as if moving away from Louis was absolutely impossible.  
And while it was not impossible, per se, it was extremely hard to do. 

As soon as he had sat down and relaxed against the back of his seat, Louis turned around, looking at him. He had had the edge of his lower lip between his teeth and as he looked Harry in the eye, it slipped from the grip, his mouth falling slightly open, lips wet and pink. Harry could have kissed him, then, could have kissed the life out of him. Instead, they stared at each other quietly for another handful of seconds, before  Louis smiled slowly, coyly, and pulled his feet up to his seat, wrapping his arms around his calves and resting his head on his knees. 

                   “I’m pretty sure you were telling me a story, before,” he said.  
Harry remembered vaguely, that he had, indeed, been telling Louis a story, some random summer memory from years ago, but it seemed so unimportant, so meaningless, then, that he shrugged and promptly let Louis know he could not remember. Louis giggled, and wordlessly turned to look out of the window again. Harry looked too, but had trouble tearing his eyes away from Louis. 

He was out of his mind, he was sure of it, but at that moment, he felt as if Louis could really have been, really was the most beautiful, wonderful, lovely person Harry had ever, in his life, met. He refrained from laughing at himself, not wanting Louis to realise anything, and instead, turned around to find his half-empty water bottle from his bag, and gulp it down in one go. 

After doing that, he let it fall back into the open bag, and sat back in his chair, swallowing heavily on the last drops of water clinging to the walls of his mouth. 

Leaned against the back of the seat, he could not help but let his eyes wander back onto Louis, still staring out the window intently. He really was beautiful. 

Harry had not even noticed, but somewhere along the way Louis had pulled his beanie back on, so now, only his fringe showed behind the hat, feathery, caramel brown strands of hair covering his forehead. The lights from outside danced on his face and neck as he watched, with a small, serene smile playing on his lips, the French countryside outside. The greens and bright yellows of the landscape painted him in a warm, sunny light, and Harry felt as if he was not looking at a human being, a simple, seventeen year-old boy, but a fairy of the highest descent, some kind of a magical prince, longingly gazing the meadows, plains, and groves he belonged to. 

Harry was out of his mind, he was sure of it. 

They sat that way for just a few minutes more, when suddenly the first building appeared, and in a shock of barely a minute, they were surrounded by streets and people, rushing cars and tall, glass covered skyscrapers. Harry saw as Louis’ whole body flinched, his hands flying to the glass of the window, and his mouth opened slightly as he took in the sudden change of scenery. 

They spent another moment or two in silence, until Louis laboriously dragged his gaze from the window and turned towards Harry, his face still full of wonder.  
                   “Paris?” he spoke quietly, the word forming into a question. Harry could not bring himself to speak, just nodded, before breaking out in laughter; not at Louis, simply from happiness. 

They laughed for a while, stopping every once in a while to simply look at each other and smile. When Louis turned back to the window, he noticed, for the first time, the big, round beads of water on the window. It was raining – a fresh, warm shower so inherent to April, so inherent to Paris. 

They watched the city roll past them and the rain fall, until they felt the train slowing down little by little. Then again, for what must have been the thousandth time, they looked at each other, smiling incredulously. 

This time around, they both found trouble in tearing their eyes from the other, but they had spent hours sitting in a comfortable silence, despite being complete strangers, and at the moment, staring at each other so closely, faces half a foot from each other, felt just as comfortable. They remained that way, close together, wide grins painting their faces, until the train slowed down completely, stopping with a puff alike the one before – as if the train had been holding a breath, and let it out, now. 

The loudspeaker cracked, and the train conductor began to speak in French, for the first time sounding content. He finished his short French speech and moved onto English and in the end, that was what broke Harry and Louis out of the world they had created. 

The conductor thanked the passengers for choosing their company, and apologised over and over for the inconvenience, assuring everyone they would receive back their money and expressed hope that nothing like what had happened would ever happen again. 

As he finished speaking, the people around Harry and Louis – who both boys had completely forgotten about for the whole duration of the drive – began moving around, gathering their things and getting ready to leave the train. 

Reluctantly, Louis leaned down to beneath his chair and started to pull on his shoes, while Harry did the same, straightening his socks before pulling them over his feet. Louis fixed his beanie on top of his head and stood up, holding onto the seat before him to balance himself in the narrow strip of floor between the chairs. As he looked to his side, he saw Harry throwing his bag over his shoulder and stepping out into the corridor between the rows of seats. 

He looked over his shoulder at Louis and smiled, dimples flashing on his cheeks, before stepping further into the aisle. Louis followed him, walking behind him towards the door of the train, which had opened without Louis even realising it, and just like that, after barely a moment, Harry was stepping out onto the cement platform, Louis following suit.

Stepping out, he looked behind his shoulder briefly, casting his eyes over the interior of the train for the last time. He took a wary step away from the train, relying on his intuition instead of his eyes, as they were behind him, and slowly the automated doors slipped shut. Briefly, Louis thought through his packing up minutes before, the ever-human fear of losing or forgetting one’s possessions rushing through him momentarily. He brushed it off after a moment, and with a content smile, turned away from the train. Harry had walked a few meters off and Louis made his way up to him, then. 

                   “Welcome to France!” Harry exclaimed happily, throwing open his arms. Louis chuckled and as Harry beckoned to everything around them, he began to look around taking in the sight before them. 

Unlike the train station in London, the platform their train had stopped at was outdoors. They were standing under a concrete roof attached to the wall of the station building, but farther down the platform, emptying gradually of the train’s passengers, he could see the heavy rainfall. The air smelt slightly of oil fumes, but the humidity helped to conceal it. 

Louis could not see any green, no trees or grass of pot plants as far as his eye spanned, for the ground beneath them was, like the roof, dark grey, dirty cement, and the horizon was blocked by building after building after building. 

Harry stood by quietly, letting Louis wander off here and there for a moment, looking around the train station. Finally, after a few minutes, he walked back up to where Harry had leaned against the wall, waiting. 

                   “So,” he breathed, when Louis reached him, pushing himself off of the wall with his foot, uncrossing his arms. “What’s the plan?” he asked, trying to sound casual, deep down terrified of the thought of Louis leaving. He didn’t think he would survive if he were to lose contact with Louis just like that, after having barely got to know him. 

Louis shrugged, pulling his jacket closed tighter as a gush of wind rolled past them. He had tried to keep the thought off for a while now – the thought of saying goodbye to Harry and figuring out what the fuck he was going to do alone, in Paris. He sighed, stepping side to side on his feet. Harry was looking at him expectantly and Louis knew he had to say something, anything, soon, before he managed to turn the situation any worse. 

It was just that, he could not afford to lose Harry like that. He supposed he could have asked him for his number or something like that, but that would have felt like making it some official kind of a thing, and he was not sure of himself enough for that. So he spent another handful of seconds in silence, looking around aimlessly, avoiding Harry’s eyes. When another gust of wind blew past and a shiver rolled down Harry’s back, he decided to grab the reigns, if only to get somewhere warmer. 

                   “D’you wanna sit down somewhere?” he asked, stepping to the side, eyes glued tightly to Louis. “We could get a cup of tea- there’s like, this kind of a booth,” –he took another step towards the glass door a few meters off, leading into the station building –“there. It’s pretty cold out here and-” 

                   “Yeah, ‘course!” Louis said, content with Harry having taken control of the situation. He let himself be lead through the glass door and through corridors that seemed like a maze, but it was most likely only so because he was not paying any attention to his surroundings. His mind was racing, trying to think an explanation to give to Harry to make them stay together for even a minute more. 

Halfway to the little café booth, Harry looked over his shoulder to see Louis standing still instead of following him. People were already pushing past him, hiding him from Harry’s view for a moment. Frowning, Harry walked up to him and patted him on his shoulder, smiling.  
                   “Lou? You there?” he spoke lightly. Louis looked up at him, frowning, and shook himself quickly then, puffing out a laugh. Harry smiled and leaned back up, asking if he was okay wordlessly.  
                   “Sorry ‘bout that,” Louis mumbled, laughing at himself outwardly, sirens ringing on full volume in his head. “Got a bit, erm, lost in my head,” he said. Harry smiled at him slowly, as if something dawned on him – and something had – but with a light shrug threw his arm around Louis’ shoulder as they walked the rest of the way to the booth. 

Louis tried to ignore the pleasant weight of Harry’s arm around him for exactly half a second, after which he let any shyness fly out of the window and instead, as much as he could while still walking, leaned into Harry’s side, letting himself be almost pulled to the booth.

They walked the rest of the way quickly, slaloming past the crowds. Louis was trying to actually pay attention this time, to where they were going and more so to what he was seeing, but Harry’s arm around him, holding on even tighter whenever there was a small fit between two people, only reminded him better of the inevitable farewell. Still, he did his best in ignoring it, relishing instead in the touch he had at the moment, and looking around for the minute or two they spent walking. 

The station building was similar to its London counterpart, when it came to high ceilings and the overwhelming amounts of people, but definitely much more modern, as the walls were mostly glass, and the lighting came from modern lamps similar to ones on the streets, instead of enormous chandeliers. 

Before Louis had any more time to look around, he heard Harry’s voice speaking to someone.  
                   “ _Bonjour!_ ” Harry spoke, his accent thick. It took him a moment to say the next sentence, “Je voudrais, erm, un café!” After speaking he looked at Louis, staring at him, surprised.  
                   “Do you want some coffee too, or?” he asked.  
Louis shook his head and turned to the young woman standing at the counter.  
                   “A tea?” he asked, unsure. The girl looked as if she had almost understood him, but was not entirely sure. They both looked at Harry at the same time.  
                   “ _Il prend un thé,_ ” Harry said after a moment of thinking. The girl smiled then, and typed something into her computer. 

Harry reached to his bag to find his wallet, but as he did that his ukulele slipped off his shoulder and would have fallen to the ground, had Louis not caught it. His right hand buried in his bag, feeling around for his money, he looked up at Louis, smirking.  
                   “Thanks for that,” he breathed, standing up straight after finding his wallet from the bottom of his bag. Louis made a remark on how he could pay Harry back for his tea later, but Harry only grimaced at him over his shoulder, thanking the girl when she began to prepare their drinks. 

                   “I can take the uke now,” Harry said after they had stood in silence for a minute or two, watching the girl work. Louis startled at his voice, having got lost in his thoughts despite trying not to, but declined Harry’s offer quickly.  
                   “It’s cool,” he responded, patting the instrument against his back, lightly, “Makes me feel all... Indie and cool.”

Harry stuck his tongue out for a moment, picking up the friendly mock in Louis’ words, but before he could say anything, the girl leaned towards him over the counter and handed him their drinks. Harry mumbled a thank you to her, after which he turned to Louis, handing him the larger cup. Louis was about to pry open the lid, to make sure the drink he was holding was, in fact, his, when Harry interrupted him.

                   “No need to check,” he said, blowing onto his beverage through the small hole in the plastic lid, “the coffee cups’re always smaller than the tea cups.”

Just in case – or out of spite – Louis still pulled off the lid of the paper cup. Immediately he was met with the warm, fresh smell of black tea. He looked at Harry, nodding barely. Harry smirked at him, having known he was right.  
                   “Why don’t we sit down somewhere?” he asked, and as before, clinging to the option of staying with Harry for just a little longer, Louis agreed happily.

They walked a small way off towards where a single unoccupied bench stood at a glass wall. They sat down quietly, drinking their coffee and tea, glancing at each other through smiles every once in a while. As Harry looked through the window, he saw that the rain must have just stopped, the tree leaves still dripping, but the clouds, slowly and steadily, clearing away. Between the white-grey of the clouds and the bright blue of the newly cleared sky, the world was lit a fair, lemon-y yellow. Stretching the silence for a moment more, figuring out a way to ask Louis what he wanted to ask, Harry kept looking out.

Finally, when he became worried Louis would say something first and he would not be able to bring himself to talk about it after that, Harry turned to Louis, coughing and setting his coffee cup on the wide bench.  
                   “Louis,” he spoke, “I have to ask you something.”  
Louis frowned, setting his cup down as well, next to Harry’s. “Yeah?”  
                   “Erm, I hope this isn’t too forward, and I’m probably wrong anyway, but like” –he made a pause, glancing past Louis momentarily, hoping the boy would not absolutely hate him- “Basically,” he finally went on, “I didn’t want to ask before because it was obvious you weren’t gonna answer, but now I’m kinda feeling like- Well,” –there was another pause- “You haven’t got anywhere to go, have you?”

He sighed heavily after speaking his words, looking past Louis for another moment before averting his eyes onto him and smiling, pitifully. Louis’ face was not mad, definitely, but rather completely confused – and inside, he at least partially, actually felt relief. He could not bring himself to say anything, though, having not fully understood Harry’s intention.  
                   “Like,” -Harry picked up his coffee cup; there was barely anything in it, but he brought it to his lips anyway- “Lemme’ explain, fuck-  
                   “Basically, when we were in the train I kept trying to figure out why you were there. You know, a seventeen year-old on a school day, completely alone on a train to Paris – it doesn’t really add up well, does it? And when I realised you weren’t gonna answer me, I stopped trying to get it out of you- wouldn’t’ve wanted you to feel uncomfortable. And then when we got off the train, I felt like- oh god, this feels stupid- I felt like you were really lost? So I, erm, connected the dots, kind of, and I just realised that well, you- You’re running away from something, I guess? Or at least you’ve, you’ve nowhere to go now,” Harry spoke quickly, stumbling over his words in a rush.

Louis thought Harry had never spoken as fast before; in his life, probably. Harry, himself, had honestly thought it impossible, too. He had barely breathed between his words and was panting now, but even though Louis had already opened his mouth, he forced himself to speak one last thing. He would have felt rude otherwise.  
                   “Oh and- I’m probably wrong anyway, you probably have a really good explanation as to why you’re here and I’ve just made a fool out of myself as usually, but if by any chance I am right, you’ve got your reasons, still, so I don’t expect you to like, tell me anything- obviously,” he rushed out, heaving in a deep breath after stopping.

Finally, he was finished, feeling like a huge weight had lifted off of his shoulders, despite still being anxious to see how Louis reacted.

Louis took a moment, fiddling with his beanie and knocking back the last few drops of his tea, before he spoke. When he did, he was cheerful, actually, pleased with the fact Harry had figured it out himself – it saved them both of awkward storytelling (and Louis was not prepared yet to stop at the possibility, but it also gave them a chance to stay together for a while longer.)

                   “You’re right,” Louis said, smiling, “I am running away from somewhere, and I don’t have anywhere to go, yeah, either.” He huffed after finishing and shrugged. “’Is nothing serious, though, you don’t have to be worried or anything.”  
He smiled again, unknowing of what else to say. He could have addressed the elephant in the room and offered hanging out together for a while, but found himself unable to, just yet. Instead, he let silence fall on them.

They sat for a while, looking around the room only to settle their eyes on each other’s over and over again.  
                   “So,” –Harry stretched his back, wondering if he should pick up his bags and stand up already or not- “What d’you wanna do now?”  
He didn’t stand up, in the end. Not until Louis shrugged, and looking around the room, did so himself.  
                   “Well, erm,” he found trouble in getting the words out, despite having spent the past quarter of an hour figuring out possible ways to say it, “Maybe we could, if you don’t have anything better to do, hang out for a bit?”  
He had barely got the words out when Harry, sitting up straighter with a beam on his face, exclaimed, “Yes!”  
Louis gaped at him for a moment, unsure what to say. Before he got a chance, Harry’s face changed, and frowning, he spoke again.  
                   “Erm, I mean- Yeah, ‘course, that’d be fun? Do you wanna go somewhere specific then or?”

Louis shrugged, “I’m here for the first time so I don’t really know anything,” he tilted his head, thinking, “Beside’s the Eiffel Tower and the Louvre, I’spose.”  
Harry chuckled, nodding slowly and stood up, finally. He collected his bags from the bench and threw them over his shoulder.  
                   “Yeah well, that might get complicated.”  
They began to walk, Louis staying a step behind Harry, following him. Harry was still looking at him, though, apparently waiting for a reply, so Louis gave him one.  
                   “Let me guess, we en’t millionaires?”  
Harry laughed, nodding again, and licking his lips turned away, back to the crowds.

They walked in silence, Louis following Harry a step or two back, Harry turning to check on him every few minutes. In the hustle of the mass of people it took them quite a while to get to the large front doors of the train station building, partially too because Harry managed to get lost twice.

Finally, they stepped through the doors and were outside, standing on the wide street, surprisingly deserted compared to the inside of the train station.  
                   “So?” Louis asked, looking around for a direction they could have gone in.  
                   “I’ll, erm,” Harry spoke, looking around the street, just as perplexed as Louis. He remembered then he had promised to phone Zayn when he reached the city. “I’m gonna call Z, okay? I promised him so like- And then we’ll see.”

He smiled at Louis and palmed at his pockets to find his phone. He pulled it out after some messing around with it and was about to dial when he noticed the clock.  
The band’s meeting had only been going for ten minutes by schedule, and knowing his mates, was not going to start for another ten, maybe twenty, minutes. He had walked a few paces away from Louis for the phone call, and looked at him now. He was standing near the wall to the side of the doors, earnestly examining his surroundings. His mouth was just slightly open, from what Harry thought must have been wonder, his eyes wide and look marvellous. Harry smiled at him, unable to help himself, but turned to look away then. He missed Louis turning to look at him and smile.

Harry had already dialled Zayn’s number, but was hovering his thumb above the call button. He moves his thumb a little closer, but still did not click, instead looking up at Louis once more. Louis had stepped away from the wall, further onto the street and was looking up at the sky; he had his bottom lip pulled slightly out between his left thumb and index finger. He let go and bit into it instead, crossing his arms over his chest. Harry wondered if he was cold.

At that moment he looked back down at his phone and frowning, closed it before shoving it back in the back pocket of his trousers. He swallowed deeply and walked up to Louis slowly, feeling anxious.  
                   “You didn’t call him?” Louis asked, and Harry realised he had been watched. He shrugged  
                   “Realised the meeting only just started so I would’ve had to go there and like...” he trailed off, scratching at his jaw. Louis smiled abruptly, surprised.  
                   “Wasn’t it important?” he asked, voice high in his head.

Harry shrugged again. He was going to say he would rather spend some time with Louis, when his phone rang, instead. He smiled at Louis awkwardly and pulled it out, seeing Zayn’s name on the screen. He sighed, mumbling a ‘speak of the devil’ under his breath before sliding the button to answer.  
                   “Hey,” he spoke, still smiling at Louis to keep some kind of contact with him.  
                   “Bro, you still stuck?” Zayn’s voice came from the other line. His voice was hard to hear, surrounded by rattling, as if it was very windy around him. Harry sighed, kind of wanting to say he was, but could not find a good enough reason to lie.  
                   “No actually, I just got off the train,” he spoke, trying to sound enthusiastic.  
                   “Oh sick, then you can come and play with us! We’re going to our usual corner.”  
Harry frowned, removing his phone from his ear to check the time again, maybe he had got something wrong.  
                   “What ‘bout the meeting? Did you skip it or-”  
                   “Oh no, no, we already finished. Jon – the new lad, right – he had to hurry somewhere so we made it quick. He was ace though, I think he’ll work.”  
Harry smiled, then, reassured.  
                   “Oh, yeah? That’s great!” he looked at Louis again, staring at him intently, and smiled merrily. Louis smiled back, giggling a little at Harry’s jubilant expression.  
                   “Yeah man,” Zayn on the other line spoke, “How long d’you think it’s gonna take you?”  
Harry bit his lip, concentrating on Zayn again, “Erm, half an hour? It’s not that long of a way and we’ll take the tube so-”  
                   “We?” Zayn asked.  
Harry’s eyes skimmed over Louis momentarily, he had not noticed what he was saying.  
                   “Oh, right, I have someone with me yeah, met ‘im on the train. He’ll hang out, that cool?”  
Zayn made a noise at the back of his throat.  
                   “Him?” he asked.  
                   “First of all, you shouldn’t sound surprised and second of all, you don’t know my intentions. His name’s Louis and he’s a nice kid. A bit snarky, I like it.”

From the corner of his eye – Harry had turned away from him partially – he saw Louis’ mouth fall wide open, his hands moving to cover his chest once more, this time out of mock offense.  
Zayn made some kind of a comment, but Harry missed it as he turned to look at Louis, poking his tongue out momentarily. Louis retorted after a second, making a biting motion. Harry began to laugh then, his body shaking with the strong bursts.

After a moment, he became coherent again and heard Zayn speak.  
                  “Bro, you listening to me? For fuck’s sake-”  
                  “Yeah, yeah, yeah, sorry man, I’ll be there in a few yeah,” Harry replied urgently. Zayn sighed, but it sounded fake, and with a ‘make it bloody quick’ hung up.

Harry slipped his phone in his pocket again and turned to Louis. He was about to explain what they were going to do, but Louis’ expression stopped him. He was staring at him, arms crossed over his chest, with his lips pursed tight and nose scrunched up ever so slightly.  
                   “’He’s a nice kid’?” he asked, “You sound like my uncle.”  
Harry gawked at him, stepping back.  Before he could say anything, Louis continued.  
                   “And now you look like a frog. You sound like my uncle and look like a frog,” he concluded, looking awfully proud of himself. Harry collected himself after a moment and smirking, ruffled Louis’ hair.  
                   “You know what you look like, then?”  
Louis gave him a furious look.  
                   “A kitten,” Harry said, “An angry little kitten, mad because,” he pouted for a second thinking of what to say, “Because someone took away your catnip.”  
Louis couldn’t help himself when he slapped Harry across his chest, “Kittens’ve sharp nails, though.”  
                   “You’re so cute I could pinch your cheeks, you know,” Harry spoke, not letting the subject drop.

Louis only slapped him again. He had to look down though, as if he was checking his shoes for something, after a moment, because Harry had called him cute. Cute. Even if it was just a joke. Once he felt his face turn back to normal beige instead of the tomato red he had sported for a moment, he looked up, smiling.  
                   “What’s the plan, then?” he asked.

Harry explained to him the whole thing. He had thought the story would be longer, but it ended up taking him only a minute or two, and once Louis had agreed – and mentioned once more that he was not, thank you very much, a kid (something Harry silently agreed with very much, it was in his greatest interests that Louis would not be a kid) – they set their way towards the underground entrance.

They walked mostly in silence, close enough so the backs of their hands touched every once in a while. When they did, they would look at each other and smile awkwardly, before turning away before either could see the other one blush.

It was not a very long walk, but it took them a while as Louis wanted to stop here and there to look around. He wished he could take pictures, but did not want to turn on his phone.  
Finally, just before they reached the entrance, he voiced his wish and immediately, Harry pulled up his own phone, handing it to Louis.  
                  “Here, I can like, send them to you later or something,” he said, handing the cell over.

Louis took it, slightly taken aback, but delighted. He snapped a picture of the street, and one of the metro entrance, before turning to Harry abruptly and taking one of him. Harry pulled a face, and he took another one; then, he was about to give back the phone, but instead, turned on the front camera setting and took a picture of himself, with his tongue sticking out. Harry was laughing when he handed it back, but instead of putting it away turned the camera back on and stood behind Louis, leaning so their heads were close together, cheeks touching. He angled the camera upwards and flashing a grin, took a picture of them.

Upon seeing the picture, Louis whined, saying he looked horrible and had not been ready, but Harry left no room for complaining. Instead, after putting his phone away, he threw his arm around Louis’ neck and pulling him close, walked on towards the steps leading underground.  
                   “I think you looked cute,” he said, matter-of-factly.  
Louis looked at him, his head moving in the fraction of a fraction of a second, but Harry was simply smirking at him, smug.

As they walked on, he let his arm loosen from around Louis’ neck so it lay easily on his shoulder.

The Paris Metro looked a world away from its London counterpart, but Louis had barely any time to look around the jugendstil interior, before Harry noticed the time of departure for their preferred train on the electronic timetable and hurried towards the right platform, his arm slipping from around Louis. Louis had trouble following him, but managed to do so, despite the low room being nearly as filled with people as the train station had been.

When he reached the correct platform, Harry was already there, looking around with a frown on his face. Louis walked up to him and waved his hand in front of his face. Harry chuckled and sighed, pleased.  
                   “Oh, I lost you there for a moment, was about to get worried. The train’s gonna be here in a mo.”

Louis nodded and stepped closer to Harry, looking down the long-spanning railway. He felt a shiver run down his back and crossed his arms over his chest, wishing he had time to take his sweater from his backpack. It had been a tad chilly outside, but here, he was glad he only had to stand around for another moment or two. 

Harry must have noticed though, for he leaned closer to Louis, and similarly to before, put his arm around the boy.  
                   “You cold?” he breathed, lips almost brushing Louis’ ear. Another shiver ran down Louis’ back and he was not so sure it was because of the cold, this time around. He nodded though, and when Harry’s grip on him tightened, he allowed himself to ever so slightly lean into his side. 

The train came, too, then, and before he knew it, Harry was leading them towards the open doors. They stepped inside, and Louis was not surprised to see the metro train looked almost exactly the same as the London one had. Harry guided them to the nearest seat, where they sat down, Harry’s arm still staying around Louis. 

They had been one of the first people on the train, and now they sat, watching as the seats quickly filled with people, after which the rows between the seats filled, too, with standing passengers. Some stared at them, Louis noticed, but he supposed he was staring at them, too, so it could not have meant anything. 

The doors closed with a soft thump and after a beep, the metro train began moving.  
                   “Do we have to get on another one?” Louis asked, after they had been driving for a minute or two.  
Harry looked at him, confused for a moment, before Louis’ point reached him. He shook his head.  
                   “Oh, no, we just need to ride this for,” –his eyes flicked onto the electronic clock below the ceiling, some meters off, and back to Louis- “Another twenty minutes or so; nineteen stops.”  
                   “Nineteen?” Louis asked, wide-eyed.  
                   “Paris’ a big city,” was all Harry said.  
They sat in silence for a while, Harry’s arm holding onto Louis’ shoulder lightly, the younger boy’s body leaned into his a bit.

He felt a yawn coming up and blinked hastily, trying to fight it off ineffectively. It hit him after another few seconds, his mouth slowly opening wide as he inhaled slowly, feeling his hearing and vision get hazy for the duration of the yawn. When he came back to his senses a moment later, Harry was looking at him, smiling with only one half of his mouth tilted up. Louis inhaled and realised that for the first time since having examined him in the train, he was close enough to feel Harry’s smell.  
                   “Tired?” Harry asked, refraining from adding ‘sweetheart’ or anything of the sort to the end.

Louis nodded, feeling another yawn come up.  
                   “Didn’t sleep awful good tonight,” he said, shrugging lightly. Thankfully, speaking wiped off the need for another yawn.

Harry chuckled and tightened his arm around Louis, involuntarily pulling him closer into his chest. In his comfort, partially – he had warmed up since entering the train, and Harry’s arm around him felt incredibly nice and secure – and his discomfort, partially – Harry pulling him closer had resulted in quite an awkward position to sit in for a longer time – Louis carelessly let his head fall on Harry’s shoulder, pressing his nose into his jacket only the slightest bit. Harry puffed out another quiet, soft laugh, and let his fingers run up and down Louis’ arm for a moment, in what he hoped was a casual reassurance.

Before he could make himself comfortable, though, the metallic edges on the leather jacket began to dig into Louis’ cheek and he was forced to lift his head.  
                   “Your jacket’s no good for sleeping on,” he mumbled.  
Harry frowned at him first, then at his jacket, before his face light up.  
                   “Wait a moment, then,” he spoke cheerily.  
His arm slipped from around Louis, who had to hold back from whining. He had grown used to the weight on him and felt uncomfortably exposed, suddenly. 

He watched quietly, though, as Harry shrugged the jacket off and folded it in his lap, neatly.  He pulled his bag from underneath the seat, then, and opened the zip. For a moment, he turned to Louis, handing his jacket to him. Louis held it, the leather piece of clothing unsurprisingly heavy in his hands, while Harry rummaged in his bag, looking as if he was unwrapping something without pulling it out. Finally, he smiled victoriously and pulled out a sweatshirt, throwing it over his shoulder while he took the jacket from Louis and stuffed it in his bag. 

He zipped his bag back up and pushed it beneath his seat. In it, he had seen his hat, badly folded up beneath his laptop, but he guessed worse had happened to it and left it be. He was glad it was even there, after all, he had completely forgot about it when getting off the train. 

Finally, he took the sweatshirt that had fallen into his lap, and pulled the simple pull-over on. He straightened it down his stomach and turned to Louis then, widening his arms with a grin, as if inviting Louis back.

And back he went, unable to keep from laughing as he let Harry pull him close with an arm around his shoulder like before. Only this time, when he lay his head on Harry’s shoulder, he was met with pleasantly soft cotton instead of harsh leather, and he sighed happily, closing his eyes. Seeing how contently Louis lay, the better part of him wrapped in his arms, Harry began to feel reckless and allowed himself to lay his own head on top of Louis’. After all, he hadn’t had the highest quality slumber himself, the night before. 

As they sat, Harry could feel Louis’ breath against his shoulder and while it was not quite relaxed enough to sound like he was sleeping, Harry knew he must have been comfortable, and god knows he was more comfortable than he had been in a while. He knew perfectly well he was becoming infatuated with the boy at pro racing speed, but had yet to see any trouble in that. Instead, he only let his fingers wander over Louis’ arm in a wider span, wondering all the while what it would feel like to run his fingers over Louis’ skin instead of his cloth covered arm. 

                   “Haz,” Louis voice sounded, small underneath Harry’s larger form. He spluttered after saying the word and laughed then, pushing Harry away slightly. “Your hair was all over my face, and then it got in my mouth!” he exclaimed. 

Harry sat up straight, laughing. His arm slipped from around Louis, but he did not mind it, as it stayed on the edge of the bench behind him and could have wrapped around him again whenever Harry chose so. He had to take his hand from the edge after a moment, though, to pull the loose hairband from his hair and make a new bun, one that would actually keep his hair in place. He could not help but smirk as he watched Louis watch him, his face full of something that could have almost been called awe.  
               “My hair’s pretty great, isn’it?” Harry asked, the smugness evident in his voice. Louis scoffed.  
               “When it’s not in my mouth, maybe.”  
Harry shrugged, admitting defeat – it was a downside to his hair, he knew that himself better than anyone. He let one of his hands fall back onto the edge of Louis’ seat and the other in his lap.

For a moment, Louis wondered if he should have cuddled up to Harry again, but reckoned the moment had passed and stayed where he was, content enough there. He still inched closer to Harry, so even if they were not so much cuddled together anymore, they were still sitting close enough for their thighs to touch, with Louis’ arm against Harry’s side. 

                   “Harry?” Louis asked once a minute or two had passed in silence. Harry looked up at him, eyebrows elevated.  
                   “What’re we gonna do when we get there- Where your friends are, I mean.” He spoke.

Harry tilted his head to the side, cracking the joints of his neck, eyes still glued to Louis’. He shrugged barely.  
                   “We’re probably gonna sing a bit, hang out. ‘Ave a beer,” he responded, shrugging repeatedly again. Louis nodded slowly, licking his lips.  
                   “What about it?” Harry asked then, and in a smooth, placid movement, his hand wrapped around Louis again.  
Louis shook his head, smiling, “Nothing, really; was just wondering,” –he made a pause, moving closer to Harry just enough for them to be squeezed together, like before – “Zayn’s gonna be there, right?”  
                   “Yeah.”  
Louis only nodded again.  
Later, Harry would desperately – and just as futilely – try to figure out, where the guts had come from for the words, but almost immediately after Louis had finished, he opened his mouth.  
               “’Is just you and me for another ten minutes, though,” he said, smiling down at Louis. “More, actually; it’s a few minutes’ walk from the stop to the corner where the lads’re at.”

Louis tried to hide his astonishment and the way his mouth fell open in laughter, but in vain. His face must have turned crimson, the proof was in the way Harry could not stop smiling. When it looked like Harry was moments away from – god forbid – making a comment, Louis simply closed his eyes for a moment and turned away. He knew he was most likely only making the situation even more awkward, even more obvious, but found no other way of tending. 

He exhaled deeply, letting his eyes travel along the train, and turned back to Harry then, a question on his face.  
                   “What did that exactly mean?” he asked. It was too late to play the cheeky card now, but it was his only hope. Or not.  
                   “Exactly what it meant,” Harry said, casually.  
Louis wanted nothing more than to punch the arrogance off his face, but he was not one to lose so easily.  
                   “I didn’t get it,” he spoke with a pout. Harry turned to him then, turned so his body faced Louis too, as opposed to only his face, and quietly, calmly, stared at him. For a second Louis was scared – petrified, rather – Harry was going to kiss him, but then, as if remembering where they were, Harry began to laugh, leaning away from Louis as his body swayed with his laughter. 

                   “You’re the absolute fucking worst,” Louis murmured under his breath, hoping Harry would not hear him, while in a way wishing he would, too. He did and it only helped to make him laugh harder. What finally quieted him was a glare from a woman standing a meter or so off, slowly rocking a baby’s carriage back and forth. He exhaled, harsh on purpose, and settled then, shaking his head slowly. 

                   “You,” he said, prodding at Louis’ shoulder, “You are the absolute worst.”  
Louis sighed. Harry was by far the most confusing person he had ever met.

He could not help but chuckle a bit, too, as Harry made a show of leaning his head on his shoulder, hitting him around the side of his face lightly. Louis stopped even trying to figure out what the fuck Harry was on.  
                   “Are you quite finished?” Louis finally asked, when Harry had spent greatly over a minute poking all of him his fingers reached.  Harry, still not raising his head from Louis’ shoulder, mumbled, “No.”  
                   “I’m gonna slap you,” Louis did not let Harry go.  
Harry mumbled something incoherently.  
                   “I can’t understand a thing, Harold.”  
Harry finally lifted his head. “I still don’t get it” he spoke, “It’s longer than my name!”

Louis only blinked at him, pursing his lips. After a moment, Harry let his head fall back onto Louis’ shoulder. Louis sighed exasperatedly, but Harry did not start poking him again, so he let him be. Instead, Harry pulled out his phone and began roaming on it absentmindedly.

Louis watched him scroll through Twitter and after a few minutes, began pointing at funny tweets, causing them both to laugh. It slowly turned into a game of Louis picking tweets he liked and Harry favouriting them. They went on like that for a while, going through Instagram and Tumblr, until Harry checked the clock and suddenly sat up. He looked at the table on the wall and frowning, put away his phone. 

                   “Woops.” He turned to Louis, pulling a face. “We need to get off in a moment,” he said, pulling his bags from underneath the seat and standing up. Louis, confused, stood up, too, and followed him through the packed, narrow corridor to the doors. They had to stand, waiting, for a minute or so, feeling the train gradually slow down as it reached the stop. Other people around them had stood up, ready to get off as well. 

When the train stopped the doors opened almost immediately, and before either Harry or Louis could react, the flood of people behind them pushed them out of the doors. They hurriedly stepped out, physically moved by the force of co-passengers. Louis turned to look to his side and saw Harry walking farther off. He tried to follow Harry but by then another flood of people had begun to push him around – the flood of people trying to get on the train.  
He saw Harry walk on, towering just slightly over the crowd; enough to get past them easily and remain visible, while Louis was hidden between the people, pushed farther away from Harry with every passing moment.

                   “Harry!” he called out, screaming almost desperately, hoping Harry would hear him. A few heads turned in his direction and thankfully, one of them was Harry’s.  
He realised in a moment how far off Louis was and frowned for a second, before smiling gently and turning around completely. In just a second, he made his way between the people and before Louis could see his body fully - there were still too many people between - he felt strong fingers encircle his wrist and softly pull him towards Harry. Toppling, he went.  
He let himself be pulled through the crowds to a wide, circular, granite post, where finally, Harry and he stopped. Harry let go of his wrist and immediately gripped his shoulders, leaning down at him, staring deeply into his eyes.  
                  “You okay?” he asked, his voice full of concern.

Louis smiled and nodded, shrugging the best he could with Harry’s arms weighing him down.  
                  “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just panicked for a moment, thought I’d- lose you-” he spoke, cutting himself off, trying to sound light. Harry smiled slowly and squeezed Louis’ shoulders once more, before letting go. He wanted to hug him, in all honesty, but was not sure if it would have been a good idea, just yet.

Instead, he led them to where the exit of the underground was and they climbed up the stairs outside. It was raining again, but only slightly, so little it could not bother either boy. They walked slowly, and again, stopped here and there so Louis could take pictures with Harry’s phone.  
They were passing a park, with benches standing in a row at the edge, only a few meters from them.  
                   “Wait,” Louis spoke, pulling off one strap of his backpack and, as Harry turned to him, walking towards a free bench. He laid his bag on it for a moment, opening the zip and rummaging through it. With a victorious smile he pulled out a burger. He looked at the one left in his bag and almost blew a kiss at it, zipping his bag up. He threw it over his shoulder and stood up properly, cracking is back after having leant back.

Harry was waiting for him on the asphalt street, where they had been walking, arms crossed over his chest, stumbling side to side on his feet. Before walking up to him Louis walked to the nearest bin and ripping up the package, threw it in the hole carelessly, only checking to see he did not miss.

He walked up to Harry then, taking a bite. Silently, they walked on, Harry completely oblivious to the master-plan forming in Louis’ head. He had promised to make Harry take a bite, and Louis Tomlinson always kept his promises, especially if they hid behind their facade a challenge. He took another few bites, chewing slowly and inattentively, until finally, the right moment came.

Wordlessly, he stuck the burger under Harry’s nose, shaking his wrist just so slightly. Harry glanced at him, one eyebrow high on his forehead and easily, confidently bit into it, ripping off a large part of it. Concealing his smugness, Louis let Harry chew up the whole thing and swallow, until he spoke.  
               “On the train,” he said, his words muffled as he took another mouthful, the burger almost eaten. Harry looked at him again, not seeing Louis’ point.  
               “I promised you I’d make you take a bite of the burger. You called them disgusting-”  
               “No!” Harry yelled, spluttering.

Finally, Louis allowed himself to laugh, toppling over himself, almost chocking on the piece of burger still in his mouth. By the time he finished, minutes later, his eyes were red and brimming with tears, his face hurting from his smile splitting it in half. Harry simply stood the whole time, shaking his head slowly.  
                   “I can’t believe it,” Harry mumbled exasperatedly, closing his eyes as he inhaled deeply, eyebrows high on his forehead. “I can’t believe what a failure I have become."

Louis laughed some more, poking his tongue out at Harry. He was ahead of him now, walking with his back to the direction they were walking in, face to Harry. He turned his head, stretching his neck to see behind himself, only to see a mostly empty street; the only people there besides him and Harry were two women around his mum’s age, walking with their arms hooked at the very end of the street, far away.

He looked back to Harry, and content with the emptiness of the street began twirling, staring at Harry for a while and then, feeling brave, at the sky. He twirled for a while, simultaneously trying to move on in what he thought was the right direction, until he was stopped abruptly by Harry gripping his arm and pulling him closer to him.  
                   “Louis!” he said, voice just a little louder than usual, “You’re gonna go on the road!”

Dizzy, Louis stumbled towards Harry as he pulled him even closer, supporting himself on Harry by clutching onto his arms. He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his face slowly, teeth shut together tight.  
                   “Knew I shouldn’t’ve looked up,” he mumbled, groaning.  
Harry giggled, holding onto Louis’ shoulders and crouching a little to look in his eyes.  
                   “You need to sit down?”  
Louis opened his eyes for a moment, scrunched up his face, closed his eyes, and nodded then, letting go of Harry’s arms. He trIed to balance himself for a moment, all in vain, as a second later he plopped down on the ground, right there in the middle of the street. Harry took a step back and watched him, amused.

Louis pulled his legs up, winding his arms around his calves and resting his head on his knees.  
                   “Life hack to ya, Harold: never look up while twirling.”  
Harry puffed a laugh out through his nose. He let Louis sit for another few moments, before asking if he was planning to stay there for a while.  
                   “Yes, actually. It’s quite nice down here,” Louis responded, squinting up at Harry. “Why don’t you join me?”  
Harry sighed sharply, chuckling, licking first over his upper teeth and then his lower.  
                   “I mean it,” Louis said, covering his eyes with his hand as he tried to look at Harry, with the bright blue sky behind him. Harry looked down at the ground, but sighing, sat down only a second later.  
                   “’m gonna ruin my trousers,” he mumbled, swiping his hand over the ground and grimacing in disgust at the dirt on his fingers. Louis snorted.  
                   “Oh, cheer up, princess posh. Your trousers are black.”  
Harry peered at him, head still down, and wordlessly flipped him off.  
Louis cackled, patting against the fronts of his knees. He rested his forehead, still unable to stop laughing. He angled his head after a moment, so that his words would be audible, rather than muffled against his legs.

                   “You’d look pretty great in a dress, though.”  
Harry contemplated flipping him off again, but thought of something better a moment later.  
                   “You’d look better,” he said, pronouncing the words definitely, looking at Louis as seriously as he could muster in the situation. Louis lifted his head, eyes wide, and swallowed deeply. He tried to say something, but closed his mouth after a moment, teeth clanking shut as his lips stayed slightly ajar.

They sat for another moment longer, until Louis shrugged and making a small noise at the top of his head arduously pulled himself up. Harry watched him, amused by how Louis was forced to go on his knees before he could pull himself up, small as he was.

Then, a great deal simply because he wanted to impress Louis, Harry pulled himself up, pulling himself into a crouch only by leaning on his hand for a moment and then standing up. Without giving Louis the chance to comment, he began dusting off his trousers, mumbling to himself about how he had taken them from the wash only the day before.

Louis observed him, waiting patiently until Harry finished, after which he let Harry begin walking first, as he had been a meter or so farther off. They walked in silence for a little while, peeking at each other every few moments, pulling faces and giggling. Until Harry’s phone began vibrating in his pocket and he pulled it out. **  
**                    “Yeah?” he asked, frowning; he had not checked the caller id.  
                   “Styles, bro, where are you?” Zayn’s voice called down the line. Harry shook his head quietly, inhaling deeply.  
                   “On my way,” he responded after a moment.  
                   “I thought you said you’d make it quick, mate!” Zayn said, voice casually sarcastic.  
Harry sighed, “I’m literally around the corner, yeah, stop whining. I should already be able to hear you guys playing, but I can’t, so get to that.”  
Zayn made a vaguely annoyed voice before hanging up.  
Chuckling, Harry pocketed his phone.  
                   “Idiots,” he mumbled, turning to Louis, “all of ‘em.”  
Louis gave him a look. “And you en’t?”  
                   “I feel absolutely disrespected,” Harry replied, horror gleaming in his face.  
Louis spat out laughing, Harry following suit after a moment.

Laughing, they finally reached the end of the street Louis had thought was never-ending, and turned around the corner. Compared to the quietness of the street they had been walking on, this one was quite positively crowded. Harry noted, more to himself than anyone, how they should earn a good few quid from there if they actually played, unlike what it sounded like at the moment.  
After a minute’s worth of walking, Harry let out a little cheerful noise.  
                   “Look,” he said, pointing to a group of people a little farther off, “There they are.”

Louis looked. There were six people, around Harry’s age, two of them sitting on the low, wide window sill of a small shopping mall, the others standing around, except for one guy, who seemed to be sitting on some kind of a box. In the sunlight, he could see some beer bottles glinting. One of the guys sitting was holding a guitar.

Shortly, one of the guys noticed them approaching and immediately ran over, hollering with a bottle of beer in his hands.  
                   “The man himself, finally!” he yelled, so everyone else noticed them, too. As he reached them, he wrapped his arms around Harry’s neck in what could only have been described as a bear hug, making them both topple to the ground after a few moments. Laughing, brushing dust off of himself, Harry slowly got up, holding out a hand for Zayn too.

                   “Didn’t know you were a lightweight,” Harry mumbled as the lad pulled himself up.  
                   “That’s ‘cause I’m not,” he replied, pulling a bottle opener out of his back pocket. “Good thing I didn’t open the bottle already, though.”  
Harry made a noise of agreement, accepting the bottle from Zayn and taking a sip, turning to Louis.  
                   “Z, this is Louis, Louis, this is Zayn,” he introduced them, stepping towards Louis and urging him closer to Zayn with a soft touch to the small of his back. “Make friends now.”  
                   “Erm-” Louis began, completely unknowing of what to say. Completely honestly, he was a bit stunned – Zayn was, most probably, the most attractive person he had ever seen. If not the most attractive person, period. He had those dark, thin features and big, round, dark brown eyes, with luscious, dark, dark hair, falling over his head just so and a slight, perfectly trimmed stubble covering his chin. To think Louis had thought Harry was unprecedentedly attractive…

Before he could dwell on it longer and possibly melt into a puddle, because spending all that time with Harry had been an enough of a blow to his self-esteem, Zayn opened his mouth.  
                   “Hey mate,” he said, holding out a hand awkwardly, before puffing out a laugh and closing his fingers into a fist. He shook it towards Louis, who fish-mouthed for a moment, embarrassed, before holding out his own fist and fist bumping Zayn.  
                   “Hiya,” he responded.  
Zayn smiled at him, nodding a little, before turning back to Harry.  
                   “Ya didn’t say your friend was cute,” he mumbled in mock-whisper, making Harry and laugh and Louis turn, well, a few shades pinker in his face. Smirking, Harry glanced at Louis and, in a way because he could and in a way to reassure Louis, threw his arm around him.  
                   “He is, yeah.”  
Louis could only look down and will himself to not turn redder.  
                   “Anyway,” Zayn continued, then, as they began walking towards the group some fifteen meters off, “We haven’t really started playing; did some instrumentals and fucked about a bit but, you know how it is without you.”  
Harry awwed at that; Zayn only gave him a look.  
                   “But I do have some good news for ya. Guess whose guitar came back from the workshop last night?”  
Immediately, Harry’s eyes widened. “No,” he whispered, voice low even for him. Zayn nodded smugly.

Harry looked at Louis and smiled, mumbling an almost inaudible “sorry” before taking his arm from around him and absolutely dashing off in the direction of the window sill.  
                   “Watch now,” Zayn turned to Louis, stepping closer to him, to where Harry had been standing between them.  
Louis turned back to where Harry was. He had reached the group, obviously, as they had been only a few meters from them, and just as Louis focused in on him, his voice came, a loud, deep shout.  
                   “Where’s my baby?” he asked, before noticing a light, yellowish guitar bag balanced on the edge of the window sill. He dropped his bag and managed to make his way to it in what seemed like a single step, dropping to his knees and pulling the instrument against himself.

Louis reached him as he was sitting down on the edge, unzipping the bag in his lap hurriedly. He managed to pull the zip around the length of the bag and threw it open, letting it fall to the ground unceremoniously as he pulled out his guitar, sighing loudly. He sat it up on his lap, pulling his fingers over the strings and stroking his hands down the sides, admiring.  
               “I missed you so much, babe,” he murmured, stroking the instrument in his lap softly. He sighed once more and then, letting all composure and social normality go, pressed his lips to the neck of the guitar softly, pecking it. “Love you, love you so much,” he breathed against the wood, before setting it in his lap properly, so he could begin to tune it after lifting the strap over his shoulder.  
               “You’re a bloody lunatic, mate,” one of the guys, the one sitting on the wooden box thing, said. Harry looked up from his guitar, frowning.  
               “Josh, we both know damn well you’d fuck your drum kit if you had to be without it for a month,” he replied, eliciting laughs from the group.

Louis watched the ordeal, standing a meter or so off awkwardly, unsure where to stand or sit and what to do, until Harry looked up at him.  
                “Lou,” he said, his frown turning into a soft smile slowly, “What’re you all alone there for, come sit ‘ere.” He patted the empty stone window sill to the right of his. Timidly, feeling the eyes of Harry’s friends on him, he sat down.

After he had done that, Zayn sat down on the other side of Harry, far enough so the neck of Harry’s guitar would not hit him around the face: he knew Harry had a habit of dancing a bit, while he played.  
                   “So, what’re we playing first?” Harry asked, wiping off the foam on his lip from the beer after a sip. Zayn shrugged, tapping on his thighs. Harry smirked then, licking his lips as he pushed himself up from the edge. He gave Zayn a look first, and then Josh.  
                   “You know what we’re playing, man, go get your guitar,” he said, before walking up to Josh.

Josh looked up at him from his cajón, face unsure. Harry mumbled something, barely any sound leaving his mouth, but Josh understood immediately, smiling slyly, nodding. They waited until Zayn got his guitar and sat back down, nodding to them.  
                   “ _Les garcons et les filles de Paris!_ ” Harry screamed across the street, his voice reaching all round the wide, long expanse of the street. Those seven words were more than enough for Louis to realise this was Harry, this was what he was put on this Earth to do: perform.

                   “ _Ècoutez-moi!_ ” He yelled, as he began stomping a rhythm onto the ground, hard. After a moment, Josh joined in on his drum and before Louis knew, Harry was strumming on his guitar, head banging along almost aggressively. A moment before he began singing, Zayn joined in, but the moment Louis heard Harry’s voice, everything else as if faded out.

The words were simple, strange metaphors and well-worded similes inherit to indie music, but with Harry’s deep, hoarse voice drawling over them, his lips giving every syllable a soft, round edge, it sounded to Louis as something magical, completely ethereal. He remembered having thought of Harry’s voice as honey over bread, falling seamlessly and softly, thick and golden. He agreed with himself now, as when he closed his eyes he could almost see the liquid gold dripping.

Only he could not close his eyes, he was glued to place, watching as Harry swayed around, running his fingers over the guitar strings, making it look like the easiest, most natural thing in the world. He reached the second chorus, belting out the lyrics at the top of his lungs, banging his foot against the ground to the continuous, heavy rhythm.

There came a moment where he did not have to play the guitar, and he used the opportunity to rip off his hairband and roll it over his palm to around his wrist. He gave Zayn a look, shaking loose his long hair as the acapella bridge began. He closed his eyes and at that moment, as he began flicking his fingers, singing the high ‘ooh’ notes, turned his body enough towards Louis the boy could see his face.

His eyes were closed and face scrunched up in emotion, and flashing, glowing such immense happiness, absolute bliss, Louis felt some of it radiating onto him, feeling himself begin to sway along involuntarily. The part of the song ended and Harry went on with the third and last chorus.

He opened his eyes and momentarily checked down to his guitar as his fingers covered the strings again, smiling. Then, he looked up at the crowds, singing the last lines of the songs with every ounce of energy he could muster, feeling as more and more of it flowed into his body through the music. He felt absolutely exhilarant, having not performed for so long and getting to do it now, finally.

Some people had stopped to listen, an older couple and some younger girls, whispering to each other. He couldn’t help but flash his brightest smile at first the man and woman and then the girls, who immediately giggled and turned their faces, as he sang the last few lines of the song, stomping his foot on the ground as hard as he could with the last chord hanging in mid air even after the song had ended, until he let go of his guitar, it hanging from his neck and shoulder by the strap, and screamed up at the sky, needing to let off some of the power that had gathered in him.

Tacitly, the old woman from the couple that had stood to listen walked up to him and dropped a few coins into the guitar bag that had been set to the ground, open, in front of them – it was Zayn’s, and in all honesty Harry only noticed it now. Chuckling at himself internally he hoped he had not stepped on it somewhere along the song. He turned to the woman, mumbling a “merci” and bowing a little from the junctions of his neck as she hurried away, smiling.  
After a moment one of the girls ran up to him, too, dropping some money in the bag and turning to him.

                   “That was,” she stumbled over her words, her accent thick, probably made thicker by her nerves, “Really, very good.”  
Harry nodded greatly, his smile threatening to snap his face in half as he thanked the girl.  
                   “Do you mind if we, er,” she looked to her friends, unsure, but as she saw them nodding enthusiastically, turned back, “Film you?” she asked, pulling her phone out of the pocket of her jeans.  
                   “No, ‘course!” Harry answered, nodding excitedly. It wasn’t every day people were asking to film you after only one song.  
The girl ran off then, and Harry turned to his friends, walking up to Zayn. They fist bumped.  
                   “I knew today was gonna be a good night, fuck,” Harry spoke, running his hands through his hair.  
                   “Don’t ruin it, Styles. Let’s wait until the end of the night, yeah?” Zayn exhorted, but his face was one of pure happiness, too, and his words meant barely anything. Harry nodded anyway, knowing Zayn was right, in actuality.

He turned to Josh then, humming a little tune. After he had nodded, Harry took his spot straight behind the guitar bag on the ground, as before, and shot a finger gun at Josh, who began tapping out a rhythm then. Zayn began strumming along to it and Harry clapped a few times before beginning to sing. The intro was just some notes on an ‘m-ba’ syllable, before the actually lyrics began.

When they did, he turned to Louis, beginning to strum on his guitar, smiling. The notes were immediately pretty loud, making his voice scratch roughly, but still they sounded like magic to Louis. When the chorus began, there was a moment where Harry should have kept the note for a few paces longer, but instead, he jolted his head up, looking at Louis.

                   “Get up!” he hollered a second before he began to sing the chorus.  
Louis held the tips of his fingers against his chest, looking around and frowning.  
                  “Me?” he asked.  
Harry laughed, shaking his head disapprovingly. The chorus ended then, and before the next verse there was a longer instrumental pause.  
                  “You, you, of course!” Harry responded, to Louis. “Who else?” he asked, “My imaginary friend behind you?”

Louis stuck his tongue out him, but stood up anyway. Harry strummed the guitar a little louder, and right before the verse began, managed to fit in a final sentence, directed at the girl standing a few feet off, with a beer in her hand.

              “Pez, give Lou a tambourine, take the maracas yourself.”  
The girl startled a bit, from being turned to, but busied herself only a moment later, scrambling through the bag on the edge next to Zayn, finding the small rhythm instruments with the help of Zayn’s instructions. He handed the tambourine to Louis, standing awkwardly. He took it the same way, unknowing of what to do with it.

              “What do I-” he began to ask, but Perrie interrupted him.  
                  “Play it, dummy! I’ll show you,” she said and began to tap out a rhythm on the instrument against her hand. She handed it to Louis after a few examples and Louis began to play, quietly at first, but louder and more confident as Perrie joined him herself with the maracas, and the song got louder, reaching the final chorus.

He played absentmindedly, not overly worried about the rhythm as Perrie reassured him he had to have fun, most importantly, concentrating instead on the rough sound on Harry’s voice, letting himself get lost in it.

Unlike the previous song, this one ended quietly, fizzing out gradually. Using this to their advantage, Louis followed Perrie’s example in raising their hands and shaking them down in a fast rustle, fitting to the end of the song.  
                   “Jazzhands,” Louis laughed, earning a giggle from Perrie, too.  
                   “Wow,” Harry’s voice came then, after the song had ended. He waited until the few people had walked up to him, thrown some coins in the bag and left, some of them saying some kind words, too, and thanked them all, before turning to his band. “Lads,” he spoke, “and Perrie,” –he pointed at her, only to earn a groan, “I love you all, you know that right?”

Everyone, even those who had just been sitting around, but especially Zayn and Josh – because they heard that all the time – groaned exasperatedly.  
                   “Okay then,” Harry answered them, voice low and fake-annoyed.  He laughed after a moment and continued, “But really, I feel so fucking great, you have no idea.”  
He walked to the window sill, to where Zayn was sitting and patted him on the shoulder, leaning down to take a sip from his beer.

                   “Sounding good, bro,” Zayn commented, referring to both Harry’s singing and playing, as he always did. Harry smirked, sitting down next to his mate.  
                   “You’re not half bad either, man. Actually, you’re pretty fucking awesome.”  
Zayn only laughed, and after a moment, took a sip from his own beer.  
                   “Louis!” Harry suddenly called, pointing and looking around until Louis appeared in his line of vision. “Louis,” he repeated himself, “You feel good with the tambourine?”

Louis walked up to him, then, shaking the instrument in his hand, eliciting a rattling noise. “I feel great, Haz,” he said. Harry nodded, giving him a thumbs up.  
                   “ _C’est un peu plus silencieux,_ ” Harry spoke, his voice somehow resonant enough to reach across the street while still sounding comfortable to those sitting next to him.  
He fingered over the strings, bobbing along his head. As he began singing, Louis recognised the song as the one he had sung in the train. Harry remembered that, too, after a moment, and turned his head to Louis, smiling widely. Only this time around, during the chorus, Zayn joined in on the guitar and with his voice, and they sang it in two tunes, harmonizing beautifully in the end.

Louis put away the tambourine, feeling like it did not really belong with the song and hummed along the tune quietly as it became more and more familiar to him. During the second chorus he looked up and to his side, and at the same time Josh, crouching over himself on the cajón to reach the body of the drum, looked up. They made eye contact and smiled, and somehow, in that moment, even though he looked away only a second later, Louis felt he belonged. He felt those people, here, around him, were people who he would not mind spending a long time with, despite only knowing one of them for longer than an hour, and him, too, for less than a day.

Speaking of whom, Louis turned to look at Harry, in the middle of singing with his eyes closed, barely pronouncing the words at all, his face overtook by a wide grin. His knee was tapping up and down slowly, to the mellow rhythm of the song, his boot heel clanging nicely, fittingly against the ground with every beat.

Zayn did not join in after the instrumental and Harry sang the last chorus alone, both Zayn and Josh fading out their instruments, leaving only Harry’s low, woolly soft voice and the quiet strums of his guitar, until the song ended. He let the last note vibrate around them for a moment, his smile growing just a fraction of a millimetre – it simply had no more room to grow – and opened his eyes then, along with his mouth, slightly, to in- and exhale deeply.  
He watched as another set of people, three, to be exact, walked up to them to throw coins in the guitar bag. He smiled at them widely and murmured ‘merci’-s, bringing his palms together and bowing his head humbly.

                   “Can someone go check how much we have already?” he asked after a moment, eyeing his mates, standing around. A young man, a friend of Josh’s, whose name Harry could not remember no matter how hard he tried, walked up to the guitar bag and crouched down, setting his bottle of beer on the ground next to him. He trailed his hand through the bag slowly, picking up a few coins to check their value, flipping them around.

                   “Around a tenner,” he said, standing up and wiping his hands, before leaning down to grab his bottle, “In Euros.”  
Harry nodded slowly, licking over his teeth thoughtfully.  
                   “’S good, yeah?” Zayn said, tapping his fingers on his guitar. Harry nodded, smiling.  
                   “Yeah, ‘s great.”

He took a sip of his beer, the bottle almost empty now, and playing a loud, cacophonic chord just to startle Louis sitting next to him, in thought, stood up. He turned to Louis, chuckling as the boy made a soft noise at the back of his throat out of surprise at the loud sound. He collected himself immediately and frowned, rolling his eyes at Harry, earning another, louder laugh from him. He chuckled, too, biting the inside of his bottom lip a little as Harry shook his head at him slowly, walking away, and finally turned to the street.

He peered at Josh and hit his hand on the guitar hard, waiting until he got a reaction – a slight smile and a nod. Josh hit his hand on the cajón hard, in a slow, deep rhythm and Harry joined him a moment later on his guitar, playing the chords while muting them with his pinky, creating a dry sound to start off with. Zayn joined then, and a moment later Harry began the first verse.

Louis listened intently and could not help but laugh at how morbid the lyrics actually were, despite the light, quick-paced melody. Having not listened into the other songs’ lyrics much – or rather, having been distracted by the sole tone of Harry’s voice – Louis wondered what those had been about. He listened until the song ended, bobbing his head along and quietly, almost shyly, tapping his tambourine along against his thigh, unsure if it fit with the song but finding it a fun thing to do.

The song ended soon and right away they began with another one, Harry thanking the people who gave money during the intro with nods and smiles. After they had gone, he closed his eyes and began singing, inhaling deeply between the words. Instantly Louis felt the ambience of the song flood into him. It was a lot deeper, more thoughtful than the songs before, the notes Harry was singing quite high and loud, leaving him short-winded after every few lines, but his breathlessness and how he gulped air in between the lyrics, only added to the mood of the song.

The song ended progressively, Harry fingering the guitar strings quietly, his hair covering all of his head completely, making his face invisible from all angles. Without a word, he began tapping a rhythm onto the body of his guitar, humming a quiet, high tune along at the back of his throat. Josh joined him on the cajón and Harry threw his head back, starting with the lyrics.  
For a moment Louis thought he was singing gibberish. It took him a moment to realise it was Spanish. Harry was singing in Spanish. They had taken a seat again on the window sill, and wide-eyed, Louis turned to Perrie. “Spanish?”  he mouthed, frowning at her out of surprise. Perrie chuckled, obviously picking up the amazement, despite his efforts, in Louis’ face. She nodded then.

                “H is a bit of a multi-talent,” she stated, rolling her eyes, “Don’t tell’im, though, he thinks well enough of himself as it is.”

Louis laughed at that, turning to look at Harry. He remembered the little exchange they had had on the train, Harry having called himself a big baby – he had not seemed overly enthusiastic about himself back then, but the longer Louis looked at Harry now, performing, the less he could see that cute boy who had taped a fork to his box of salad and scrunched his nose at burgers. Instead, he saw this absolutely stunning, mind-blowing young man, his hair whisking around in the wind just like a lion’s mane might have, as he sang from the farthest depths of his heart, his voice rough and raw, reaching all round the street and probably farther than that.

Harry was not only the most confusing person Louis had ever met. He was also, by far, the most intriguing person he knew. And quite possibly the most sexually appealing, but Louis let that thought go only a second after it appeared with nothing more than a barely there, sly smirk.

After a long acapella part near the end of the song, which left Louis gasping from the intensity, he sang the last chorus and finally the song finished. Panting, Harry waited until the few people walked up to him again, dropping some coins in the guitar bag and speaking to him for a little while. He thanked them, really fully grateful, but sighed happily once they had left and walked to his friends, pulling the strap of his guitar over his neck.

He groaned quietly and sat down, balancing his guitar carefully next to him.  
                   “Any more beer left?” he asked, looking around on the faces of his mates. Josh leaned back on his drum and looked down, the beers had been behind him before, but now, only an empty cardboard package lay on the ground behind him.  
                   “We’re out,” he said, sitting back up straight.

Harry sighed, frustrated, and slowly got back up on his feet to get his bag from the few feet off. He grabbed it and sat down where it had been, before, right next to Louis. From the bag he pulled out his bottle of water and uncorked it nimbly, bringing to his lips and gulping it in one go, all of the contents from the half-filled bottle disappearing in a matter of seconds.

He sighed deeply after finishing and leaned down, resting his elbows on his thighs, breathing heavily through his mouth. He turned his head slowly to look at Louis.

                   “How are you?” he asked, smiling.  
Louis had been looking at him. He smiled, too, now, and leant back on the window sill, so his back rested against the glass wall of the building. “’M good,” he said.  
Harry breathed out another sigh, sitting up and leaning back on the sill, too, so once he settled his face was a mere foot from Louis’. They stared at each other, wordless, for a while, Louis perilously downplaying the itch to shift closer, just enough to get a whiff of Harry’s scent.  
Before he could act on his aspiration, they were interrupted.

 


	2. Chapter 2

                   “We’re ‘ere to sing, not ogle, Styles,” Josh’s voice suddenly called. Immediately, Harry’s tender smile twisted into a sore, displeased frown. He composed himself and after a moment leaned over Louis, propping his hand on the edge of the window sill, his frown still apparent on his face. Louis altered his gaze from Harry’s face to Josh’s, and found the young man sitting back on his cajón, eyes wide with a somewhat overdone panic.

Wordlessly, Harry stood up, strode to his guitar, picked it up and threw the strap over his head. He did all that while glaring at Josh – and for a moment, when he laughed, Zayn – but just a second before he began to sing, the song having no instrumental intro, his character fluctuated and he broke out in a tremendous grin.

The song was different from the previous ones and after the first verse ended and the chorus began, Louis realised why: the song was not Harry’s originally, it was a cover. Louis could not call to mind who the song was by originally, but he knew for a fact it was not a song he would have liked, where it not for Harry’s singing. He led in the final chorus and Louis found himself humming along, swaying side to side where he was sitting.

The song ended and instantaneously Harry began with the next one, singing another cover and then some which Louis reckoned were originals. He was not really paying much attention when Harry finished another song, but noticed when another song did not immediately follow. Louis had been talking to Perrie – or rather deflecting her questions – when Harry sat down on his other side, and thankfully disturbed their conversation.

                   “Guys, d’you wanna go grab some more beers?” he asked, jiggling a few coins in his palm.  
Louis turned to him, shrugging. He would rather not have got up as he had just pulled up his feet and made himself comfortable cross-legged on the edge, leaning back; and now that Perrie’s questioning had been interrupted, he was really beginning to enjoy himself in the warm sunlight slanting through the bare tree branches in the distance. He shook his head after a moment.

Harry sat back, too, then, shrugging. He was about to pocket the coins, when Perrie stood up, holding out her hand to him.  
                   “I’ll go get ‘em,” she said.  
Harry frowned up at her, shading his eyes from the sunlight that so suddenly had begun to shine from a different angle. “It’s cool, you don’t have to,” he said.  
Perrie shook her head, “I wanna.”

Just then, Zayn began to sing and they all turned to watch him for a few moments. Louis voiced his thought from before, that reoccurred in his mind now, about how he was finding it hard to believe there could be so many talented people and all of them friends with each other, and both Harry and Perrie laughed for a moment.  Another second later, though, Perrie was snapping her fingers at Harry, to get the cents from him.

With an exasperated sigh, he handed them over, shooting up his hands right away after, shaking his head.  
                   “Make sure you don’t say I asked, later,” he muttered as she began to walk away, hollering about six-packs on her way.

They watched her step up to Zayn and press a kiss to his cheek, before whispering and skipping off then, melting into one with the crowd soon after.

Harry turned to Louis, moving visibly closer to him and after a moment, to hell with it¸ throwing his arm around the boy. Undoubtedly surprised, Louis gawked at Harry, asking a question with his face. Harry licked his lips, smirking, and pulled Louis a little closer, before pointing at Zayn with his free hand.

                   “Listen,” he said, wondering internally if it was the right time to lean his head on Louis’ shoulder, “He’s better than I am at it, to be honest. Dunno why he insists on playing only when we have actual gigs.”  
Harry was right. Maybe not better than Harry, Louis thought, though his opinion could not have been the most objective of its kinds, but good, still; excellent, even.

He was singing a song similar to the first few Harry had sang, and using his opportunity of having Harry so close and free to talk to, Louis began to ask for answers to the multiple questions that had crossed his mind as he had listen to him perform. He began with the most obvious.  
                   “So,” -he allowed himself to lean into Harry,- “D’you write all those songs?” he asked. “They were really good,” he added, after a moment.

Harry smiled, glad Louis was making conversation, and much more than glad Louis was being so open with his body language. He had wanted to have the boy in his lap for far too long to never have it happen.  
                   “Yeah,” he responded, unashamedly smug, “I am glad you liked them.”

Louis nodded slowly, biting the side of the inside of his lower lip. “I did, especially the-” he had to think for a moment, which song to comment on, and decided finally to ignore Perrie’s forewarning and feed Harry’s ego. “Especially the one in Spanish, I think?”  
Harry’s smile grew, his dimples deep and long around his mouth. Louis abstained from poking them.  
                   “I’m really proud of that one, yeah,” he said, “Didn’t write it all by myself, though, I’m afraid. I don’t actually speak Spanish, I just... Sing songs in it?” –he chuckled, and spurred on by the dallying spirit of the conversation, Louis joined him – “I have another one, but it’s not mine – ‘s a cover,” he finished, nodding along with himself to prove his point.  
                   “Are you gonna sing it later?” Louis asked coyly, raising his brows at Harry. He shifted his head from side to side coolly as a reply, before opening his mouth, his demeanour changing just slightly from complacent to shrewd.

                   “I will if you want me to,” he said, his voice rough and face one of someone, who knew exactly what he was doing, especially, when he spoke the last few words. “You’re gonna have to ask nicely.”  
Louis blinked at him wordlessly, thoroughly perplexed. It took him another moment, but he round himself up and sitting up straight, replied.  
                  “Will you please sing it, Harry?” he asked, manner bidding. Harry exhaled slowly, looking amused by the course of actions. He nodded.  
                  “I think I will, yeah.”

Just as he had got the words out, the first droplets hit them. Both Harry and Louis looked up, alarmed. They had not even noticed the sky getting darker nor the wind pick up, but before Louis knew it, Harry jumped up and ran to the open guitar bag in front of Zayn, still singing – he was singing a song he usually sang at the end of his ‘set’ and Harry realised a lot more time than he had thought must have passed. Zayn nodded at him as he crouched down to pick up the money and shove it in his pockets, about to close up the guitar bag. The rain was picking up rapidly, and while Zayn had thought he would finish the song before packing up for the time-being, he thought better of it and stopped halfway through, before Harry could pack up the guitar bag – it was Zayn’s after all.

                   “Mate, don’t put it away yet,” he said to Harry, still crouching on the ground, trying to zip up the bag in his uncomfortable position.  
                   “Oh,” he breathed and after a moment, pushed himself up. He pulled the guitar bag up with him and handed it to Zayn before running off to where the others had huddled underneath the eaves of the mall. The roof reached farther out overhead the doors and as a result shaded them from the rain.

Louis stood there, too, hands thrust as far into the pockets of his sweatshirt as they fit. The tambourine, still his to foster, drooped from his forearm where his arm appeared once the pocket of the hoodie ended and on his back, hung loosely over his shoulder Harry’s guitar bag with Harry’s guitar. As he reached him, Harry held out his hand and Louis let it slip to his elbow wordlessly, from where Harry could take it and throw it over his own shoulder.

                   “Thanks for that,” he mumbled, but could not get any further as Josh appeared behind Louis, with a cough. He presented his hand, stepping out from Louis’ shadow; from his palm hung the bag of Harry’s ukulele, long forgotten.  
                   “Oops,” Harry chuckled as he took that, too, from Josh, and threw it over his other shoulder.  
Feigning indignation, Josh sighed.  
                   “Always, that guy,” he said, his voice facetious, “When something like this happens, he runs to the money. The guitar can soak in the water as long as it wants, ‘s far as he’s concerned.”  
                   “Hey!” Harry promptly interfered, throwing his arms over his chest. He let out a patronising chuckle after a moment, though, smirking, clearly pleased with himself. “I pay you, remember?”

It took Josh only the most microscopic of split seconds to shake his head slowly, knowing very well both of them knew that was not the case.  
                   “We all get equal shares from gigs, remember? And,” he faked a cough for the effect, “Would you be here, in Paris, if it wasn’t for me, eh?”

Harry had known it was coming before he had even said his first words. He let out a mirthful, playfully defeated sigh. “Yeah yeah, pal, ‘s cool,” –he patted Josh on his back, stepping between him and Louis casually – “We’ve all kinds of shit thanks to you, you know it.”

Josh patted him back softly and began to turn around, someone behind them had turned to him, but before he did that hit Harry lightly around the head. “But you know we wouldn’t’ve any of this without you, mate.”  
Harry smiled, shaking his head languidly, before turning to Louis.  
                   “Your friends are great,” Louis said, pulling his arms out of his pockets to cross them over his chest. He withheld the need to shiver; still, some sort of motion must have run through him, as virtually out of instinct, Harry stepped closer and slowly, almost hesitantly, wrapped his arm around Louis shoulder, pulling him into himself a little.

Louis went more than gladly, but immediately the strap of the ukulele bag began to dig into his side painfully, and grudgingly he was forced to leave Harry’s comfortable, warm embrace. As soon as the bothersome object had been removed from between them, he was back, though, wrapping his own arm around Harry’s waist, slithering his hand around him between the guitar bag and his body.

Harry smiled down at Louis, his face earnest, squeezing Louis’ shoulder. Louis squeezed Harry’s side back and they shared a soundless laugh between them. A laugh that, although light, appeared to mean something to both boys, as if behind the gist of it something much more acute or even intimate hid.

Louis broke his eyes away first, unable to stare any longer, and turned to the curtain of rain in front of them.  Harry followed his lead, and a moment later they were both watching the rain fall before them, completely absorbed by the ropes of water. In five minutes flat the world had gone from a dry, dust-yellow grey, to a deep slate grey in which the suddenly wonderfully green grass and tree leaves sparked up like fairies, stunning everyone who laid their eyes on them.

Harry and Louis, too, could not bring themselves to pull away their eyes for a while, as they stood quietly under the eave, arms wrapped around each other. Inattentively, Harry for a moment felt he heard somebody, Zayn most likely, say the words ‘look at those two’, but deserted the thought a moment later with a glance at Louis. His eyes turned back to the rain in front of them only a second later, but this time they did not stick around.

As the rain had before, Louis now mesmerised him. Harry watched Louis for a while, wishing to lean his head closer and press his face against his, until Louis realised and turned to look at him, too. He raised his eyebrows at him, indicating he knew Harry had been staring for a while. Harry only smirked and tried to turn back to the curtain of water, but failed as he, closing his eyes, inhaled deeply and turned to Louis.

Puffing out a laugh, as if mocking himself, he spoke.  
                   “Seems like I can’t stop looking at you,” he said.  
Louis gawked at him and let out short, vocal breaths over the next few seconds, his mouth falling open a little. For the first time, though, Harry did not feel smug about the reaction he had obtained from Louis, much less the startled manner of it. He felt instead, bashful about it, hoping he could bring Louis to realise his objective had not been to flirt in the usual, teasing meaning of the word, but rather, declare his slowly growing affection to Louis.

Harry tried to interfere before Louis could gather his wits and say something, but found himself, suddenly, at a dead end. He could not think of anything to say to follow his previous statement; nothing seemed quite right. Louis looked as if he was going to open his mouth just a fraction of a second from then, but just as he did, preparing his tongue to utter the words, – himself not sure what he would have said - Harry inhaled deeply and sighed then, smiling slowly, delicately, as if afraid of not passing on his message while absolutely needing to do so.

Louis’ mouth fell open again, and for the nth time Harry yearned to lean down and wrap his lips around Louis’ soft, wet lower lip in a languid, never-ending kiss. He did not react for a while, just stood there, gazing up at Harry blindly. Nearly a minute must have passed, where they stared at each other, Louis’ head tilted slightly upwards to meet Harry’s eyes – his eyes angled down, the softest, warmest smile imaginable painting his face.

What broke the walls of the world that built itself around them was finally, the sun. Unnoticed by both Harry and Louis, the raincloud had moved on and as suddenly as it had disappeared, the sunlight broke through the final strips of cloud, unexpectedly repainting the world with reds and pinks, shining lowly through the tiny green leaf buds at the farthest end of the street as it was nearing evening time, washing the boys over with a bright, soft red.

Louis looked away first, his ears picking out the sudden quietness in the world around him: the rapid drumming of the rain had passed and the hullabaloo of the crowds, who had disappeared from the streets in a blink of an eye as soon as the rain began, was yet to start. Amazed by the beauty of this uninhabited, soaked world his arms unwound themselves from around Harry and he ran from beneath the outstretch of the roof, throwing open his arms in the middle of the barren street and beginning to twirl.

Harry laughed, he could not help but, but after a moment let his guitar bag fall softly to the ground – next to the ukulele Louis had left behind – and jogged up to him to join. Heaving, the world going around at a rapid speed in his eyes, Louis stopped short in front of Harry and extended his hands. Wordlessly, vocal chords occupied by his laughter, Harry grasped Louis’ hands tightly in his and together, they spun for what seemed like an eternity.

Reckless, feeling flimsy and weightless in Harry’s strong hold, Louis allowed himself to look up and unlike before, he did not feel sick this time, instead exhilarant, and as if they would, any second from now, let go of one hand and launch high up into the sky, where they could fly all over Paris hand in hand, just the two of them, looking down on the clouds.

After an amount of time neither could recollect later, they stopped, unfortunately still on the ground. Toppling, they fell over almost immediately, side by side in the middle of the street, panting heavily, the world still whirling unstoppably. The whole time they had twirled, and now too, completely uncontainably, they laughed, loud and buoyant, their voices echoing all across the street.

They lay for a while, the people, who had finally begun to emerge from the houses, having to pass around them, some braves simply stepping over the two spent bodies on the ground. And all the while, Harry’s eyes stayed on Louis’, and Louis’ stayed on Harry’s, as if a string – a legendary red one, perhaps – had tied itself between them tightly, making breaking apart impossible.

So tightly, in fact, that they got up in sync, too, mirroring each other’s movements unknowingly as they stood up and took the two steps to wrap their arms once again around each other,  while they walked back to beneath the roof, where their companions still stood, shaking their heads jokingly, not really able to disprove of their actions. Zayn, in the end, was the only one who dared grimace at Harry – careful to keep his eyes from Louis’ – pinching the bridge of his nose while shaking his head slowly. Harry’s laughter was his only reply.

He picked his guitar bag from the ground, Louis leaning down for the ukulele after him, and they planted both back at their original sites, bigger one balanced on the wide window sill, smaller one lying behind it on the sill.

Harry made quick work of unzipping his guitar bag and pulling the strap over his head. Softly, he pulled his thumb over each of the guitar strings, checking the tuning, and happy with the sound, he turned to Josh, just finished setting his cajón on a good spot and sitting down on it.

                   “I ‘ave a black t-shirt on today, Josh,” Harry said, smirking. Josh looked up from his lap, eyebrows high on his forehead, face asking a clear question. Harry only nodded as a reply, pointing at him, “So do you, kinda.”

Josh looked down at his shirt and nodded slowly. It was striped, yes, but mostly black. Still, Harry would have been concerned, had he not made a remark.

                   “And why, I wonder, are we doing it?” he asked.  
Having expected the question, and completely aware of the intention behind it – he had not missed the glance at Louis, but would have known either way – Harry replied, voice dull and words matter-of-fact.  
                  “Louis wanted me to.”  
He began strumming the chords, Josh joining in despite his complaints a moment later, and they played the intro, Zayn coming along on the chords, when Harry begun with the solo on the higher strings.

Louis could not believe his ears when Harry began to sing. It was in Spanish and Louis connected the dots immediately, between Harry asking before and his mention of Louis now, but the song, in no way, was what he had been expecting.

He had heard it before, he was sure of it, but could not have named the author or the title. He wasn’t really given a chance to try too hard to remember, anyway, as two lines in, Harry’s voice threw out every other thought in his head, even those at the farthest pits of his mind he had not remembered for years, and filled it with nothing but his deep, frisky voice and the lyrics, incomprehensible on the core, but so moving, eloquent, and clear, once they reached him.

The beat of the song was lively and bright, but still deep, slightly rough around the edges; nothing if not as if made for Harry. At the end of the second verse Zayn harmonised with him and it only gave more to the song, only brought out the indescribable beauty and force of Harry’s voice when he carried on alone, starting the final chorus, throwing around his hair and stomping his feet to the beat, absorbed, more than anyone else, by the music.

It was then that Louis noticed their surroundings. Suddenly, everywhere he looked - the distant tree leaves, the corners of the roofs around them, the sky, rain still refusing to give up - the world was dripping with water, creating another quiet beat to the song, forcing even more out of and into Louis, until he could not help close his eyes and begin to dance along, moving only his upper body and hands at first, afraid to spark notice, but as the last part of the last chorus began – after a stunning, refreshing guitar solo in between the parts – he stood up, dancing slowly. Opening his eyes, he found Perrie next to him, thankfully dancing too, so together, they twirled around for the last lines, humming along, and giggling, when the water from the puddles on the ground splashed around and onto them.

As abruptly as the song had begun, leaving everyone around the music breathless, it ended; complete, bewildering silence falling on the world around them. Louis stopped his dancing short, turning to Harry in a fast motion, needing to see him while the aura, the elevating mood, still hung around them.

He stood in the middle of the street, guitar hanging loosely from his neck, hair falling around his face, panting, arms at his sides but lifted just a little, hanging midair like that final chord of the song. His eyes were closed and he did not dare open them for another minute, by the time when, most of the people – twice as many as any of the times before – had already passed with their coins dropped into the open bag and kind words flung at Harry.

At last, when he did, he ignored the final supporters, as much as he would not have wanted to, and right away turned to Louis, eyes wide and face full of inquest. All Louis had to do, to reply, to, if only for a moment, clear Harry of all and any of his insecurities was nod. And that was what he did, slowly, deliberately, until Harry saw it and smiled, smiled wider than Louis had thought possible, smiled so blissfully and contentedly, that Louis almost, almost, had he been any braver, ran up to him and with not a care in the world jumped into his arms, kissed him, confessed undying love to him right then and there.

He did nothing like that, but it did not matter, since now that he had thought of it, had clearly seen it happen in his head, he could never throw the thought away again, could only admit to it, admit that he was falling, at a speed he was powerless to do anything about, in love with Harry.

Harry, who stepped closer to him hurriedly, eyes concerned and studying his face intently, rested his heavy hand on Louis’ shoulder and shook him lightly.  
                   “Are you alright?” he asked, smiling despite his worry.  
A shiver ran through Louis’ body and finally he looked up at Harry, for his head had been tilted upwards, towards him, the whole time, but he had not seen Harry, mind hazy from the sudden realisation.  
                   “I-” he began, but despite his vision having returned found trouble in getting the words out. Frustrated with his state, he finally sighed deeply, as if breathing out the redundant feelings and looked up at Harry, mind finally clear.  
                   “I’m fine,” he said, chuckling to lighten his words, “’M not sure what just happened. I haven’t slept an awful lot, so I guess...” he trailed off, shrugging repeatedly.  
Thankfully, Harry seemed fine with the answer.  
                   “You went all white in your face, looked like you were gonna faint, for a second there,” he mumbled, tone light but some form of uncertainty staying. He went to wrap his arm around Louis’ shoulder, in the already familiar gesture, but removed his arm before it could touch Louis, when Zayn turned to him.  
He requested for them to do a song, something they had not done for a while, and Harry was pleased to oblige, stepping away from Louis and to his place near the open guitar bag. The song had no intro, but right before it began, Harry looked over his shoulder at Louis and already beginning to mutter the first words, grinned widely, dimples as deep as the ocean on either side of his face.

While he sang, Harry kept peering back to Louis, unknowingly going through exactly the same phenomenon as Louis. Every time he turned his eyes from the boy it was as if he was looking away from the most beautiful, exquisite scenery unto a barren wasteland, and when he looked back, he felt he never wanted to tear his eyes away again.

Of course, he had to, as Louis was eagerly staring back and Harry was, still, too ashamed of himself to keep staring for an elongated time; that allowed their little game of hide and seek to go on for a while, until Harry finished another song and put down his guitar, telling the boys to take a bit of a pause.

He exchanged his guitar for a fresh bottle of beer from Josh and walked back up to the bag to collect the money. Cackling smugly he stood up, rubbing some of the coins between his fingers as he walked up to Zayn, sitting down next to him on the sill.  
                   “We,” he stated frankly, dropping the coins in his lap, “will be millionaires by the end of the night.”

Zayn collected the cents one by one, counting first those and then the ones Harry had kept, and finally nodded approvingly.  
                   “That is a lot,” he replied.  
Harry made a noise of agreement at the back of his head and leaned back onto the wall, sipping happily on his beer. Out of nowhere, Louis appeared next to him, sitting down on the edge of the sill primly, hands in his lap.  
                   “Aren’t you gonna sing anymore?” he asked, stretching his back before leaning to the wall, too, so his face was close to Harry’s.  
Harry shrugged, swallowing another mouthful of his beer.  
                   “In a bit.”  
Harry held out his beer, offering it to Louis. He frowned hesitantly, at first, but Harry breathed out a soft ‘c’mon’ and he took the bottle from his hands. Their fingers crossed for a moment and Louis sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes shooting up to Harry instinctively. Harry seemed unfazed by the touch and when Louis had gripped the breakable glass bottle tightly enough, pulled his fingers away slowly.

Shyly, Louis brought the open neck to his mouth, wrapped his lips around it and threw back his head for the liquid to flow out of the nearly empty bottle. It tasted bitter and cold, he did not like the taste of it much, and after barely a sip let his head back down to hand the bottle to Harry with a grimace. Harry chuckled at Louis’ face, accepting back the drink. He knocked it back quickly, emptying the final contents into his mouth, before letting it slip from between his fingers to the ground.

Louis flinched at the clinging noise, but the window sill was low enough the glass stayed intact.  
Harry licked his lips and looked back up at Louis, shading his eyes from the sunlight that was once again slanting through the thin branches of the trees farther off. The golden glow shone from behind Louis’ back, shaping into a halo-like gleam around Louis’ head, neck and shoulders. His skin looked golden too, as if he’d been dipped in honey and Harry had to keep from licking his lips once more, at the thought.

He was about to say something, god knows what, when Zayn tapped him on his shoulder.  
                   “Bro,” he said, motioning for Harry to lean closer, “I was waiting for the right moment.”

Harry frowned, shifting closer to Zayn, not realising why his friend was suddenly acting so secretively.  
                   “What’s up?” he asked, leaning his right hand on the edge of the sill. Zayn licked his lips and stuck his hand in his pocket.  
                   “Remember that old debt I had? That time you-” he did not need to finish, Harry was already catching his drift.  
                   “Shit, man,” he exclaimed, sitting up straight but collecting himself a moment later, “You’ve something right now?” he asked, blinking slowly. A smirk had been growing on his face, one that became a wide, ecstatic grin as Zayn discreetly pulled something out of his pocket and slid it into Harry’s.  
                   “Told you I’d pay back,” he said, leaning away from Harry finally. “Five g,” he added, voice hushed, a moment later.

Without pulling the little plastic bag from his pocket Harry inspected it, rubbing the green, dried moss-like goods in it.  
                   “Shit, man,” he repeated himself, surprised at, but definitely happy with the sudden course of actions. “Thanks.”

Louis observed the exchange quietly, a small smile playing on his lips when Harry turned back to him, hiding his eyes from him, looking down. He had pulled his hand out the pocket and looking down at it saw how it bulked out with the bag in it just the smallest bit. He sighed, poking the lump with his index.

                   “I wanna say something snarky, but I honestly can’t think of anything,” Louis spoke, forcing Harry to look up at him. He chuckled, shrugging.  
                   “The band’s called Blaze,” he said, pushing himself up with palms pressed to his thighs, “It can’t come as a surprise.”  
Louis laughed, shaking his head. “It doesn’t, it doesn’t,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone as Harry was already grabbing his guitar again.  
He stepped up to his position without alerting any of the other lads and, after breathing out slowly, to ready himself, opened his mouth to scream across the street.

                   “Let’s. Get. High!” he yelled, throwing his head back, voice calling far and wide around the boulevard.  He immediately followed the words with his guitar, and if the scream had not sparked the interest of his bandmates, the music did.  
Rolling his eyes at Louis, making him laugh, Zayn grabbed his own guitar and began playing, too.

A few lines in it surfaced that the song was not, in fact, about getting high. It was a fun one, all the same, and only seconds into it Louis found himself dancing beside Harry, snapping his fingers and clapping along in the middle of the by that time reasonably merry group. Perrie was twirling around Zayn, who had stood up too, despite his complaints about his difficulties in playing with somebody ‘whizzing around him the ‘ole fucking time’.

A few people from the street joined them by the chorus, a gang of wonderfully intoxicated tourists and a senior French couple, and Harry could only thank himself for writing the song as long as he had. He stood in the middle of the circle, whipping his hair back and forth, despite his voice sounding as barely more than a shriek at the loudest of notes, not a care in his world. This had always been one of his favourite songs to perform, but as he skimmed his eyes over the crowd around him, – if not dancing, people were stopping by to listen, in spite of the busy hour – it became his number one favourite, for sure.

Louis appeared in front of him then, right before the acapella part began, face red from exertion and jaw hurting from smiling.  
                   “This is incredible,” he yelled to Harry, who could not answer, but smiled, too, through his words. He let go of his guitar and raised his hands, clapping slowly.

Two claps in, everyone had come along – no matter if to the rhythm or not – and a wonderful silence fell, with only Harry’s rusty, strained voice, remaining. He grimaced at the higher notes, but kept going, banging his foot along on the ground, at the end of each line, until the acapella ended and another chorus began.

It was the third and loudest one, and as Harry grabbed his guitar again, mouth open wide with the word ‘love’, he saw Louis, a mere meter from him, screaming along the words, eyes open wide despite his scrunched up face, looking straight into Harry’s. He looked back, brave in the middle of the secure circle of people, repeating the final lines once more, wishing his hands were free and he could twirl Louis around like he had before.

Without warning, Harry and Zayn let go of their guitars and Josh stopped the rapid beat, complete silence falling upon the mass of people; everyone stopped short, looking between one another, confusion setting.

Then, in a beautiful three-toned harmony, Harry, Zayn and Josh sang. The song was still going on, had just changed completely, one-hundred and eighty degrees, the rhythm going from breakneck to mellow, singing from screams to hushed. Harry grabbed his guitar again and began strumming on it softly, closing his eyes for a moment as he let the sudden silence absorb him.

He opened them again and saw Louis still there, standing with his hands at his sides, eyes wet and mouth open softly. Most had began to dance once more, slowly, this time, but Louis could not bring himself to, watching instead how Harry played and, in return, watched him listen.  
Contrasting the first half of the song, the lyrics, like the rest of the song, had got softer and more romantic in a way, the key phrase getting repeated being ‘everyone loves’.

As the end of the song finally neared, Harry stopped playing his guitar, trusting Zayn with the job, and pushed it backwards so the guitar hung on his back with the strap across his chest. Laughing through the words he held out his hands to the stunned Louis, who took them with a moment’s delay, and while Harry joyfully sang, they danced, Louis’ thin, warm fingers squeezed tightly in Harry’s.

At ease, with the people around them and Harry’s warm fingers wrapped around his, Louis began to hum, too, softly repeating the chorus from before and murmuring quiet ‘la la la’-s that no one heard beside Harry, but they were meant, anyway, to him only.

Harry wished, in some way, for the song to be even longer, at the moment it ended, just too early for him to wrap his arm around Louis’ waist and pull him close.

Even then, the song might have ended, but the atmosphere stayed. All around them, suddenly, people were turning to Harry to praise him, clapping him in the back, asking him questions he barely heard as they toppled over each other.

Zayn saved him, a minute or two later, when he began strumming quietly on his guitar, stepping onto the window sill to make himself better audible. Immediately, everyone turned their heads to him, including Harry and Louis. Louis missed it, but Zayn gave Harry a nod a fraction of a second long, before he began singing, closing his eyes as the lyrics began.

It was a quiet, reposing song, a brilliant follow-up to the previous one. By the time Zayn reached the second verse, the expanded crowd had dispersed, only their original, smaller group staying. The other, too, had sat down or were standing at the sides, so only Harry and Louis remained, standing side-by-side in full view of everyone who cared to spare a glance, holding hands.

Harry exhaled, slowly, smile still covering the whole of his face, and held out his other hand, the one he had had to let go from Louis with. The boy took it, wrapping his smaller fingers around Harry’s longer, rougher once, and stepped closer to him, too.

They swayed, awkwardly for a moment, because of all the eyes on them, but more and more comfortable as the song went on, until, a bit before the end, Harry wrapped his arm around Louis’ middle and squeezed his fist against his back. Louis sucked in a breath at the touch, looking up at Harry wide-eyed, but he only shushed him, licking over his lower lip after a moment.

He knew the song was going to end in just a moment, but ditched the thought in place of holding onto Louis while it lasted, his face so close, right there, his body soft and pliant under his touch. When the final line was through, the song ending with no outro, Harry sighed once more, – Louis did the same, unbelieving of what had just happened – and heedlessly rested his forehead on Louis’.

For a moment, Louis thought Harry was going to kiss him right there, but thankfully, in the end he did not, just let go of his hand, wrapping it around him from the other side, hanging his head over Louis’ shoulder to hug him close. In a few moments, Louis managed to free his hands from between his and Harry’s chest and wrap them around his neck, pulling on the soft curls at his nape while they embraced.

He remembered the thought he had had on the train, of what it would have felt like to hug Harry, and realised now he had been nowhere near to its excellence when imagining it. Harry’s arms around him cut him off from the world in the most perfect of ways, securing him from any harm that might have come right then or whenever. He was so close to him it took no effort to turn his head and press it against his neck, his strong smell overwhelming his senses. And he was, indeed, tall enough, to pull Louis onto the very tips of his toes, little to no weight remaining on them until he was completely gathered up in Harry’s arms, so safe, so secure, so comfortable.  
                   “I-” Harry began, not sure what he wanted to say, but needing to say something. He sighed, squeezing Louis before loosening his grip just enough for his soles to touch the ground again, “I almost missed the train, you know,” he said.  
To reply, Louis pressed his face closer to Harry’s skin, bunching up his lips so they touched Harry’s neck softly.

After what seemed like an eternity, but nowhere near enough, Louis pulled his face away from Harry and Harry slowly, reluctantly unwrapped his arms from around Louis.  
They had let go, but refused to move any farther away from each other, Harry’s arms rested softly on Louis’ hips, Louis’ on Harry’s shoulders.

                   “If you make me watch you two for a second longer you both owe me a grand,” Josh’s voice suddenly called, reaching, with strain, even Harry’s and Louis’ ears. They turned their heads, gazes far away for another second, until they fell back on the ground and began to laugh, realising what was going on.

Eyes brimming with tears, faces red from humiliation when they realised that had happened in front of everyone, they walked back to their friends, Harry’s arm unwinding from Louis’ waist to around his shoulders, pulling him close to his chest for a final time as they laughed, overwhelmed by the feelings and most of all by the realisation they were mutual.

Before anyone else could make another comment, Harry sat down, letting go of Louis but still keeping his eyes on him, and pulled his guitar, that he had completely forgotten about, back to his front, rubbing together the tips of his fingers before he began to play. He mouthed a few words to Josh who nodded with a roll of his eyes and began tapping a slow rhythm onto his cajón. Harry began singing before he began playing the guitar, eyes closed, voice low and so soft, such a world’s difference from before.

When he started with the guitar, he opened his eyes, but not to look down at the strings but at Louis, who had sat down next to him, as close as the large instrument allowed. For the whole duration of the song, Harry kept his eyes on Louis’, a mile long smile covering his face, especially when the song began to near its end and got louder, and shyly, Louis began bobbing along his head and humming.

After it ended Harry unwillingly broke his eyes from Louis’ for a longer while, standing up to Zayn’s guitar bag again, and played another set. As always, Louis listened intently, enamoured with Harry’s voice and skill – still, he could not help but chuckle as he realised Harry was beginning to repeat songs he had already sung before, then again, he could not have had a bottomless setlist.

By the time he finished again, the final beams of sun had disappeared behind the horizon, and even though the sky was only getting dark, the street was cast into shade. The metal and stone of the buildings had warmed up over the day, though, and so the warmth stayed on the street, especially thanks to the windlessness of the past day.

                   “I think we should finish for today,” Harry said when he came back up to them, having collected the money and adding it to what he had already put aside. Josh asked if he was sure, as a lot of people were only now coming onto the streets, but Harry repeated himself and explained they had already earned much more than what had been anticipated.

Crouching down, squatting in front of the edge, he laid out the money and divided it into three equal parts, handing one to Josh and one to Zayn, who counted their own shares with approving murmurs, before pocketing the money. Louis sat by as Harry finished backing up his guitar and stood up, securing the straps over his back. He threw the strap of his travel bag over his shoulder, too, and was about to do that with the ukulele, when Louis offered to carry it for him.

                   “You sure?” he asked, holding onto the bag, not letting Louis take it.  
                   “Of course,” Louis said, making grabby hands at the instrument, “You’re not a donkey, Harold.”

Poking out his tongue momentarily, Harry finally handed the bag to Louis, who took it with his own tongue out, before bursting out in giggles and throwing the bag over his shoulder. Only a second later Harry’s arm was already around Louis’ shoulder and they were facing their group of friends, waiting.  
                   “What’s the plan, then?” Perrie asked, sitting down on the window sill, head rested on her palm.  
Shrugging wordlessly, everyone turned to Harry, who shrugged, too, but offered to go eat after a moment.  
                   “I’m kinda hungry,” he said, pouting a little. In a moment, the others agreed and decided on a pizza place a little way off from the street.

In a little time, after Josh had finished up backing up his drum and everyone else was ready, too, they began walking, in opposite direction to where Harry and Louis had come from before. The rest of the group immediately picked up an animated conversation, but Harry and Louis strayed from it – as they did, also, physically.

On their own, they hung back a bit, walking slowly but keeping the distance between them and the others small enough to go unnoticed. They spoke a little, but walked most of the way comfortably silent. As they were turning around the corner and Harry told Louis the pizza place was only another two streets away, Louis suddenly spoke up, voice alert.

                   “Harry?” he asked, turning towards him as much as he could in the circle of his arm, “Don’t we still both have food, like, in our bags?”  
As his primary reaction, Harry frowned, but after a moment remembered what Louis was talking about, as well as the fact that he was, indeed, right.  
                   “We do,” he exclaimed, stopping mid-step. He frowned again, thinking of a possible solution to their sudden problem, before shrugging and beginning to walk again. “It doesn’t matter, though, I’ll be happy with my salad tomorrow morning and all you have is those,” –there was a pause where he gulped, making a show of it- “Burgers.”

Louis sighed exasperatedly and took a few speedy steps to not fall behind Harry’s sudden change of tempo.  
                   “Believe it or not, I actually also bought a salad, too, when I bought the burgers.”  
Harry spluttered, laughing out loud. Louis sighed again, stopping in his tracks and throwing his arms over his chest. He understood very well the whole ordeal was a put-on, but if anything, was only spurred on by the knowledge.

                   “You want me to show you?” he asked, his voice loud enough to reach the rest of their group, now a well way off. “Okay, I’ll show you.” With that, he threw the ukulele bag over his other arm and pulled his rucksack off his back, ready to prove Harry oh-so wrong.  
Harry stood, amused, leaning back on his heels, as Louis arduously unzipped his bag while keeping it mid-air, and with one hand, pulled out a box of salad. It was wrapped tightly into a plastic bag, so Louis did not think much of it before tossing it at Harry, who almost let it fly past his shoulder but caught it at the very last moment, thanks to only his long limbs.

He pulled away the plastic bag and, to his phony surprise, found a box of salad inside it.  
                   “I stand defeated,” he stated, nodding in bewilderment. He carefully pulled off the lid and sniffed the insides of the box. It smelled like a salad, he was forced to admit. Looking up at Louis, still staring at him, arms once again over his chest, Harry was tempted to lick the insides, but missed his chance as Josh – always the one to comment – spoke up.

                   “Aww,” he breathed, nodding from one of their companions to the other, “The newlyweds are having their first row! Isn’t that sweet!”

Before anyone could say anything, Harry coughed. As everyone turned their attentions to him, he deliberately, serenely attached the lid of the box to it, wrapped it once more in the plastic bag, and taking a step closer to him, handed it to Louis. The others, still waiting for a response, could only fish-mouth on, as Harry waited until Louis had put the food bag in his bag and strapped it over his back, before with a gleeful smile letting his arm fall around Louis’ shoulder again.

Wordlessly, they began to walk, and walked until they had passed the rest of the group - by some force, be it the absurdity of the situation or Harry’s demeanour, still not moving on. Then, already some way off, Harry turned his head and upper body, lifting his left, free hand, raising it next to his head.

Slowly, he closed the rest of his hand into a fist, leaving only his middle finger standing high above the rest, directed perfectly towards his friend. It took a moment for the inertia to reach the others, but when it did, it did.

One by one, they began to laugh, until only Josh remained, but he, too, started laughing as Harry lowered his hand and the pair distanced more and more. Before they could turn around another corner, the others started walking again, but Harry and Louis were a long way ahead already.

They made it to the pizza place – which turned out to be more of a diner – in a few minutes, sitting down at the biggest free booth, waiting until their friends got there to get anything. It took a few minutes but Harry and Louis spent those happily huddled at the far corner of the booth, fitting their gear around the booth so the others would fit in it too, forcibly walling themselves in between Harry’s instruments and bag and the wall of the booth.

Louis was reading through the menu, pointing out interesting or tasty sounding selections to Harry, who was giving his comments, arm as if permanently around Louis’ shoulder now and legs crossed, when their friends walked in, suddenly filling the small room with their plurality and hubbub. Harry let Louis stay engaged in the laminated piece of paper, lifting his own head and waving at his friends with his free hand.

They walked closer and with some effort, sat down. Harry and Louis were pressed even closer to each other, sides and thighs touching, barely any room to move without rubbing against the other harshly, but nothing, at that moment, could have made them happier.

Louis paid hardly any attention to it, only shifting around when someone, Perrie, who had sat down next to him, sat on the hem of his sweatshirt.  He broke his concentration when someone spoke to him.  
                   “Hey, Louis,” a voice said. Louis looked up to see Zayn talking to him, “Share the menu.” Louis looked at the paper in his hands.  
                   “Oh, just a mo,” he replied, turning to Harry to ask about his, or their, final decision. “So should I get the fourth one or the fifth one?” he asked, pointing to the two pizzas. Harry hummed, flicking his finger between the two lines.  
                   “The fourth one,” he finally said, tapping his finger on the upper of the two. “And don’t worry,” -he squeezed Louis’ shoulder, pulling the paper from between his fingers and handing it to Zayn with a momentary smile- “I’ll pay.”

Louis opened his mouth to protest, shaking his shoulders in a cheeky gesture so Harry’s arm fell from them, but before he could say anything, Harry pouted, tightly knitting together his eyebrows.  
                   “Please?” he asked, blinking slowly. “Lemme buy it for us.”  
He said the words especially slowly, drawling his gravelly voice over the ‘us’, making it sound like ‘oohz’ more than anything. Louis rolled his eyes bitterly, before caving in and admitting defeat.  
                   “Ooss,” he answered Harry’s plea, mocking him in a fake-deep voice. Harry ignored it, turning away his head, and Louis never found out if the smirk on his face was from Louis’ joke or from the knowledge of being able to buy something for Louis, even if it was just a pizza.

Apparently ordering had to be done at the counter, so one by one they piled their orders on the corner-most sitting lad, whose name Louis was yet to learn but Harry knew to be Dan, and forced him to get up and read to the waitress their long list of wants.

He was back soon, and as they waited, they fell right away back into their usual, never ending conversation. While Harry joined in, making comments and listening intently, Louis sat back and only listened with one ear, looking around the room and then through the group, instead, mainly because he simply did not know most of the people or instances that were talked about. He did not mind, though, as his withdrawal gave him a chance to, for the first time, look at his companions better.

He realised, with a discreet blush, how preoccupied he must have been with Harry while they had been on the street, for he only now noticed anyone else besides him and Zayn, Perrie, and Josh – although, he had only paid little attention to them, too.

There was a distant memory at the back of his head of there having been six people before their arrival, but counting now and leaving out himself and Harry, there were nine; meaning three people had arrived later. Who those three were, he could not have figure out any way.  
He looked from one person to another, hiding his gaze adeptly so no one noticed him staring. As more time passed, he began to really feel ashamed of himself, when he realised he really had only had eyes for Harry. Even now, every once in a while, he found himself having to turn his head from Harry, who was chatting as animatedly as everyone else, only sometimes peering at Louis with a smile.

Shaking his shoulders momentarily, Louis turned back to the rest of the group and saw that besides Perrie, there were three other girls, and besides himself and Harry, there were five lads.

By the time he had finished with his impromptu ocular inspection, the pizzas were about to arrive; in fact, he was the first to notice the waiter from the front desk and another waiter walking towards them with what appeared to be their pizzas.

                   “The food’s here,” he said, earning the attention of those around him. He beckoned with his head to the approaching waiter and waitress and lost his fifteen seconds of fame immediately to the food. Of course, his own attention was brought to it, too, when the warm smell of freshly out of the oven pizza hit him, his mouth filling with saliva at the delicious air.

The workers set the plates onto the table and left, leaving their customers to sort out which pizza belonged to whom themselves. Harry and Louis’ pizza made it to them a moment later, as Harry leaned forward and pulled it to them, rubbing his hands together happily and licking his lips as it stood before him, ready to eat and looking as delicious as ever.

                   “This, Louis,” he said, pulling a piece from the rest and cutting off the molten cheese with his finger, “Is the only unhealthy food I will never be able to let go.” Gingerly, he folded the wide part of the triangle in half and bit into the narrow end, pulling off half of the piece in one go.  
Louis bit into his own piece, and a moment later, all he could say was “wow.” They ate in silence, again, mumbling only about how good it was.

A few pieces in, Harry had grease and pieces of cheese all around his mouth, no matter how many times he licked and wiped his face. Louis could not help but laugh, ‘helping’ by wiping around his mouth, too, but more than anything just shoving tissues in his mouth. Harry tried to get away from him, but was stranded between the wall and Louis, and had to take what he was given. After it all, Perrie was the one to save him as she took the tissues from Louis and, over his head, only handed one to Harry for an emergency.

Feigning sorrow, Louis slumped with his back to the wall, ignoring the last two pieces Harry had promised him, as he had eaten a much bigger amount in half the time, until Harry grabbed him by the shoulder and shook gently, before wrapping his arm around him and pulling him to his chest, grabbing a piece of the pizza with his free hand. He lifted Louis’ head and pushed the food to his lips. Louis managed to keep his mouth tightly shut for only a moment, before he burst out laughing and Harry used it to his advantage, showing as much of the piece in Louis’ mouth as he could.

Choking, trying his best not to barf it out, Louis struggled to get away from Harry, still laughing. There were tears brimming at his eyes, but he was still laughing more than struggling and because of that, Harry refused to let him go. He put the pizza down and let Louis chew for a moment, but lost his chance finally then, because when he lifted the piece again when Louis had swallowed, Louis smacked him and pulled away, causing the pizza to fall filling first into Harry’s lap.

Suddenly, everyone at the desk was staring at them, laughing at their banter, Josh awwing loudly in friendly mockery. Harry sighed, slapping Louis’ shoulder, and carefully lifted the food from himself, all the while grimacing. Still, he was not fazed, and a moment later, when Louis had lost his vigilance, he grabbed the piece of pizza again and tried to shove it in Louis’ mouth. This time, it ended up on the floor.

                   “No!” Louis exclaimed theatrically as he watched the piece, face down, between his legs on the dirty floor. He looked up at Harry, eyes wide and lips shut tight, as if angry, but really feeling nothing more than joy from their little exchange. Harry made a face at him, mumbling an apology, but Louis only giggled, pinching Harry’s cheek.

A moment later, they were cuddled up again, Harry’s arm around Louis, not really saying anything, listening in on the others’ conversations.  
Mostly quiet, they had been sitting for a little while, when a girl spoke up, earning their attentions.  
                   “Hey,” she said, smiling at them, “I didn’t know you had a boyfriend, Harry,” she said, completely sincerely.  
Louis immediately turned a shade similar to that of the pizza sauce, Harry following suit when her connotation hit him. He spluttered, opening his mouth and closing it again.

Over the last hour, both Harry and Louis had, on uncountable occasions, thought about the situation between them two, struggling to find a word for the relationship between them. Rationally, both knew it could only be something trivial and most likely short lived, but somehow, for love, or the illusion of it, often disarms one’s rationality, they felt something deeper had set root almost momentarily after their meeting, and was germinating, a white-green bud sprouting leaves any moment now.

All of a sudden, they were forced to word their liaison and found themselves at a loss of speech.  
The girl, Jade, saved them herself, realising her mistake and feeling just as, if not more, horrified by the accident.

                   “I-” she breathed, mouth hanging open. “Oh my god I’m so sorry I honestly thought you two were dating, oh my-” she cut herself off again, shaking her head blankly.  
Harry began, then, unsure as ever in what to say, but feeling it was his place to do something, as Jade was his friend, not Louis’.  
                   “It’s, erm, it’s okay, honestly- We, erm,” he turned to Louis, searching for help.  
                   “We don’t mind,” Louis added with pursed lips, looking from Harry to Jade and back.  
Harry swallowed, but nodded as he realised his arm was still wrapped tightly around Louis and something clicked: indeed, he did not mind.  
                   “Yeah, exactly,” he said, nodding fervently. “We don’t mind.”

Jade glanced between the two, more confused now than she had been before, unsure what Harry and Louis meant. She wanted to have them elaborate, but the two were stealing peeks at one another, Harry grinning smugly and Louis alternating between rolling his eyes and smirking, too.

She let them be then, delving into conversation with those around her, tucking the questions to the back of her head for later. **  
** A little while was spent in serene lull, on Harry’s and Louis’ part, again, until someone mentioned they should get to leaving soon, to which multiple others responded with whines, so the topic was dropped. Still, alerted, Louis turned to Harry, absentmindedly grabbing his thigh.  
                   “Haz,” he asked, calling to him despite having never lost his attention. “What are we gonna do after we leave? Are you gonna go to like, a club or?” he trailed off.

Harry frowned, his tongue flicking over his bottom lip as his chin shot up just a bit while he thought.  
                   “They might,” he spoke, shrugging, eyeing his friends for a moment. “We don’t have to, though, unless you want to.”  
Louis followed Harry’s gaze, flicking his eyes between his companions and shrugged, as a reply.  
                   “Do you want to?” he asked.  
Harry chuckled, stretching his back and exhaling slowly, deeply through his nose, so his nostrils dilated.  
                   “If you don’t,” he repeated himself, looking into Louis’ eyes, expression warm. Louis sighed.  
                   “I am kind of tired,” he finally decided, shrugging barely. Harry nodded, licking his lips.  
                   “Well then, when we get going and they put anything up we’ll just decline, yeah?” Ha raised his brows at Louis, who nodded after a moment, but then another question appeared in his mind.  
                   “But, erm,” he was not sure how to ask it, as for a moment all kinds of horrible thoughts ran through his head, making him paranoid. “Where are we going to stay; for the night, I mean.”  
Having seen the concern on his face, Harry had frowned, but now it swiftly stretched into a smile and he let his fingers rub the side of Louis’ arm a little.  
                   “We have a place, don’t worry,” he said.   
Still unsure, Louis raised his brows and let out a small noise from the roof of his mouth.  
                   “And where is that?”  
                   “A half hour drive, bit less. It’s a flat,” he said, gesturing towards where the place roughly stayed. Harry leaned down closer to Louis, shushing his voice. “You know how I said Josh’s dad is like a millionaire? Well he has the flat to stay at, when he comes here, but he rarely does these days, so it’s pretty much ours; and because he’s so rich, it’s like, super nice.”

Louis listened, in awe, while still wondering if Harry was up-playing the whole ordeal with Josh’s father. Then again, there must have been a reason he spoke in such a hushed tone – and judging by the fact he chose to play on the streets instead of basking in the apparent millions of his father, he must not have been exactly proud of his heritage.

Louis agreed, of course, with the thought of spending the night at the flat, jokingly pointing out how this, any of this, was possibly the most unlikely way he could have imagined his night ending up. Harry chuckled at his words, but both of them realised perfectly clearly the undertones of Louis’ words.

In another little while, their friends began to gather their things and get up to leave, one by one trailing to the counter and paying for their orders. Harry and Louis did the same, and when finished realised they had been the last ones, so everyone else was already outside, waiting for them.

Inconspicuously, the sun had set completely and the street lights had turned on, the sky black and clear, but starless in the illumination of the city. The temperature had not fallen, though, and as they stood, a little way off from the pizza place, making plans, Louis did not feel cold. Both Harry and he listened quietly as the others argued about which club or pub to crash at. Harry knew better than to speak up and declare they would not be coming, as his friends would have definitely been disappointed - to put it nicely.

Eventually, he had to, because Josh turned to him asking for his opinion. Harry groaned a little, stepping on his feet, before shrugging and blurting it out.  
                   “We’re not coming, actually,” he said.  
Josh’s eyes opened wide and he switched a glance between Harry and Louis, glued to Harry’s side.  
                   “What do you mean, you’re,” –he raised his hands, gesturing quotes in the air- “You’re not coming.”  
Harry chuckled at his attitude, reaching out to pat his shoulder, but missing, as Josh dodged, stepping in the other direction.  
                   “You are coming, like it or not,” Josh said, then, crossing his arms over his chest. “And,” –he turned to Louis- “So are you.”

Startled, Louis blinked at him, before opening his mouth roughly and putting his free hand, one that was not rested on Harry’s back, on his hip.  
                   “No I’m not,” he said, face stern and in-objectible. “And neither is Harry, we already decided that.”

Josh listened, stunned, having not expected Louis to be the one to speak up, and definitely not with the fervour he had just projected. Harry, stunned, too, but in a different way, looked from Louis to Josh, smugly grinning, before shrugging and speaking up. “He has spoken, I’m afraid it’s final.”  
Josh fishmouthed at them for another moment, before turning on his heel to face the others once again.  
                   “Those two are twats,” he said, voice purposely in a loud whisper, as if he did not want Harry and Louis to hear. “We don’t need them anyway.” Everyone laughed at that, and a moment later the two were accepted back into the circle, where they listened, not awfully intently, as the group made their plans.

It took quite some time and in the span of it Harry and Louis managed to share multiple glances, when it looked like they were about to finish, but of course, did not. Finally, the overall consensus came to be as the others going to a club in the completely opposite direction from the flat where Harry and Louis were planning to stay. So with hugs and pats on backs, they managed to eventually say goodbye, watching as the backs of their friends distanced, appearing to them as smaller and smaller, until disappearing behind the corner.

Harry sighed slowly after having lost them in the distance, and turned to Louis.  
                   “You wanna go now?” he asked.  
Louis was looking up at the sky, searching for any spots of white in the abyss, and shrugged as an answer. He began laughing, almost soundlessly, after a moment, and turned to Harry, then.  
                   “Funny,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest and stepping closer to him. “Funny.”

Harry frowned at him, scratching his face and running the hand through his hair after a moment. He made a noise, asking a question. Louis pursed his lips.  
                   “You and I,” he said. “We’re funny, I think.”  
Harry smiled slowly, spinning on the heel of his toes and taking a few steps towards the direction they were supposed to be headed in. He took a few steps, then turned back to hold out his hand for Louis. The mood between the two had done a one-eighty, and neither Harry nor Louis could have been happier.

                   “We are,” Harry spoke. Louis walked up to him and when Harry went to put his arm around his shoulders as usually, he shifted away, dodging his touch. Instead, he held out his own hand, seeing as the distance between the two had grown to be quite large, and wrapped Harry’s fingers in his, swinging their arms back and forth. Harry watched him, wide beam on his face, and when Louis finished and began to step closer, fingers still linked, let their hands go for a moment, only to intertwine their fingers properly.

As Harry’s fingers slipped between Louis’, his thumb stroking down his softly, Louis looked back up at the sky and sighed, mouth open wide. He bit into his lower lip with a smile a moment later and turned to Harry. He made a little noise, as if thinking of what to say, but shook his head a moment later and looked away, straight on down the street they were walking on.

Wordlessly, the gap between them from before long gone, they walked for a while, Harry having to guide Louis and quite literally pull him along every once in a while; more-so because he could not pull his eyes from the sky, than because he simply did not know the way. A little while later, they reached a wide high street, with cars rushing in every direction, startling both of them after the long silence.

The puddles from the rain earlier were still full and ample, the water splashing high when the cars speeded over them. Thankfully, like the road, the pavement was wide too, and staying on the far side from the cars kept Harry and Louis clean. Along with vehicles, the pavement and the one across the road, too, was jam-packed with people, rushing back and forth, along with Harry and Louis and against them.

They had been walking for a minute or two, when Harry noticed something peculiar.  
                   “Why’s everyone staring at us?” he asked, leaning close to Louis ear. Louis scoffed.  
                   “Maybe because we’re two lads holding hands?” he asked, leaning his upper body away from Harry to look at him better. Harry blinked, then frowned, and finally the realisation dawned on him, and the nodded slowly, grimacing.  
                   “Oh,” he breathed, sounding displeased. “That’s ludicrous!” he whispered, as well as exclaimed, a moment later. Louis could not help but burst out laughing, slapping Harry’s slack cheek with his other hand.

                   “Someone swallowed a dictionary,” he mumbled, still chuckling to himself. “Ludicrous,” he repeated after Harry, huffing out another laugh. Harry murmured something, but Louis chose to ignore him. Just a second later, he spoke up again, though.  
                   “We should get on the bus, now,” he said, pointing to the bus stop some twenty meters away. Louis turned his head towards it, nodding, suddenly realising just how tired his body was from constantly being in action all throughout the day. Thinking of being tired, he yawned, as well, eyes going hazy for a moment.

At the stop, they sat down on the thankfully empty bench, fingers still tangled tightly between their bodies. Harry checked the clock and then, struggling to turn around without letting go of Louis’ hand, craning his neck, managed to check the timetable hung behind them. The bus would be there in only three minutes, and he happily announced that to Louis, who smiled and nodded languidly, making himself comfortable with his head on Harry’s shoulder only a blink of an eye after he had turned back from having looked at the times.

                   “Don’t fall asleep yet,” Harry breathed, his voice only reaching Louis as a distant rumble against his cheek. “You can sleep for a while on the bus, don’t worry.”  
Then, well ahead of its time, the bus came, just as Louis was about to relax completely into Harry’s side – it was becoming more and more evident just how tired he really was, as it took him less than a minute to doze off,  - and Harry ushered Louis up from beside him, and into the bus.

It was full, almost uncomfortably so, but through what must have been a miracle, Harry managed to spot the two side-by-side empty seats before any of the other in-comers, and with a few quick paces sat down, Louis treading after him, eyes closed almost completely.  
He fell heavily next to Harry and went back to napping a moment later, pressing his face into Harry’s shoulder. Happily, Harry let him sleep, stroking his hair with his other hand softly, resting his own head on Louis’, looking out the window thoughtfully.

The bus went into motion a minute later and along to the drumming of the wheels and the hum of the motor, mixed with the buzz of the people around them, Harry began to hum, a slow-paced, melancholy song he had known for as long as he remembered. For the first time in his life though, he felt he really understood the meaning. Especially when the streetlights outside shone into the room brightly, illuminating Louis’ serene face in the reflection.  
They rode the whole way in silence, simply because Louis was asleep, until a single stop from the one they had to get off at, Harry woke Louis, squeezing his shoulder with one hand and his fingers with the other.  
                   “Lou?” he asked, shaking him slightly and pinching the bottom of his cheek. Louis groaned and rubbed his face against Harry’s shoulder, trying to dodge his touches. Harry chuckled and lightly kept shaking him, until Louis surrendered and lifted his head, moaning quietly.  
                   “We’re almost there,” Harry said, pinching Louis’ newly uncovered cheek. Louis groaned once more and opened his eyes, finally, stretching his back and rubbing his eyes.  
                   “I really fell asleep,” he said, laughing about it for a second. Harry chuckled, too, but turned to look out the window when he felt the bus still its motion.

                   “Shit,” he mumbled under his breath, jumping up and pulling Louis up, too, managing to gather their luggage in a moment. Just as they were shuffling out of the row of seats, the doors opened, and they pushed passed the people, huffing and mumbling words of irritation at their backs in French. In a moment, Harry and Louis were out of the bus, in the middle of a quiet, empty street. The doors of the bus closed and the bus took off, leaving the two in seemingly complete isolation. It had begun to drizzle, and after checking their belongings and Louis stretching and waking himself up for another minute, they began walking towards where Harry showed the building to be.

The houses they passed looked expensive to say the least, class-covered high rise blocks of flats, each one at least ten storeys in height.  
                   “The second to last one is ours,” Harry remarked, pointing to a light building in the near distance, tinted orange in the illumination of the streetlights.

As they walked, a car turned from a small lane between two buildings, shining a sudden bright light on them and speeding past a moment later, complete darkness taking over once again. With the sudden exchange of light and dark, Louis remembered the stars he had been keen to see before, and threw back his head now, searching for any specks. Indeed, there were a few more and brighter ones now, than there had been before, but still, they shone weakly, nothing out of the ordinary for such a polluted metropolis.

Until they reached the house and Harry was forced to occupy both hands, their fingers stayed intertwined, arms swinging back and forth happily, as the boys allowed themselves to sway apart and close up to each other again, laughing over nothing when they bumped their sides or when their fingers almost slipped from between the other’s.

Ready to climb up the short staircase leading to the front door of the building, Louis already let go of Harry’s hand in order to let him go on and open the door, while he stayed behind and looked at the house they were about to enter, and the street for one time more. It seemed gloomy, in a way, in the stillness of the late evening – a time when, those who would not leave for nightlife, had already made their way home and those who had left for it, were yet to depart from their preferred clubs or pubs.

The rain had begun to gather again and as Louis looked up, he saw the dark grey strips of ripped up clouds. Happily, he sighed, knowing by the time the rain got heavy he would be inside, hopefully wrapped up in a blanket or – his gaze travelled down to the entrance of the building momentarily – in a certain pair of arms he had already been wrapped in constantly for the past hour or so.

He spent another few seconds staring at the sky, amazed by the speed the clouds were travelling in; the world might have been silent and unstirring down on the ground, where he was stood, but it definitely was not up near the clouds.

                   “Louis!” Harry’s voice suddenly called from the doorway, bringing his attention back to the world beneath his feet. Wordlessly he jogged up to Harry, skipping up the steps. Harry was standing at the door, holding it open with his foot, looking just the tiniest bit annoyed. Giggling, Louis speeded past him, running up the first two flights of stairs before stopping, out of breath and unsure how high to climb.

Seeing him, leaning over the rail, panting, Harry began to laugh too, standing in the middle of the corridor. Somehow, Louis had managed to move swiftly enough past the light sensors they had not stirred, and the lights did not turn on until Harry walked up to the other end of the corridor. The bright lights flooded the large hall and Louis was forced to shade his eyes, groaning at the diffusion to his eyes.

Harry felt the same, scoffing loudly, shutting his eyes into a thin line from behind which he could peek at the buttons of the lift first, and then at Louis. While he made his way back down to the first floor, Harry’s eyes adjusted and he began to see Louis properly again.  
With muffled clanging, the lift reached the ground floor and the doors began to roll open slowly, just as Louis reached Harry.

“There’s a lift,” Louis said in a lilt, cheery. Harry chuckled, nodding.  
                   “Yeah; it’d be a shame if we had to climb to the tenth floor.”  
As they stepped into the lift and Harry pressed the button with the dial ‘10’ on it on the wall, Louis stared, stupefied by Harry’s claim.  
                   “The tenth floor?” he asked, voice even higher than a moment ago. Still smirking, Harry kept nodding. The doors had closed and steadily the lift began to pick up altitude. Almost subliminally, as they waited for the journey to finish, Harry leaning with his back against the wall and Louis, despite the roominess of the lift, standing more or less unnecessarily close to him, their fingers found each other and locked up tight, a sedated smile growing onto Harry’s lips first, and Louis’, too, when Harry’s thumb stroked down the side of his palm slowly.

All too soon, or maybe not early enough, the lift ride ended and the doors opened, Harry and Louis stepping out. Immediately, Harry turned to walk to the end of the corridor where the front door of the flat stood, but, hands still locked together tight, Louis stopped him, pulling on his fingers and refusing to move on. Harry turned his head first, his body following a moment later, eyes asking a question. With his free hand, Louis pointed to the huge, floor to ceiling window on the opposite wall from the lift.

                   “What?” Harry asked, walking up to Louis. Louis did not reply, only shook his head for a moment, in order to hush Harry, and let his hand drop. Harry understood him and stayed quiet, standing next to him, head turned straight on, but staring at Louis through the nearly invisible reflection from the window.

Watching him intently, he saw, how after a few seconds had passed, Louis closed his eyes and smiled, only to open them again a moment later, beaming brightly, chest rising greatly as he inhaled and collapsing again when he exhaled. His palm, in Harry’s, was sweating just the smallest bit, the final straw in making Harry feel every last bit of Louis next to him. Every last bit of how alive he was.

An immeasurable amount of time passed before either boy spoke up, with Harry so mesmerised by Louis he could not have said anything, had he noticed an aeroplane flying towards them in full speed, – he wouldn’t have, though – and Louis so absorbed in the view in front of him, in the realisation of where he was, of what was happening to him, what had already happened to him. When the words did come, they came from Louis.

                   “I feel like,” -he inhaled and exhaled deeply- “Like any moment now, the houses could start collapsing; exploding and falling in on themselves, until we, you and I, we were the only two people left in the world. Like all the people in this house, at this very moment, too, could disappear, like this house could collapse, too, but we’d stay elevated above the ground, watching everything beneath us burn and fade away,” –there was another long pause, and Harry never figured out how long it might have lasted, but he knew for a fact he did not breathe the entire time – “Do you feel like that, too?” he finally asked, and his eyes met Harry’s in the reflection of the window, and Harry felt like he had never seen Louis before now; like he had not really seen him.

His mouth opened long before the words came out.  
               “I do,” he said, and came close to laughing because of the other meaning those two words often served. It certainly felt like a vow.  
Finally, Louis exhaled one last time and turned his head to look at Harry. He closed one eye, the one closer to the window, so he could not see it anymore, and asked.  
               “Are the houses exploding?”  
Harry turned to him, closing one of his eyes, too. “Yeah,” he spoke.  
A second later, Louis closed his other eye, and Harry leaned down, and the houses exploded and collapsed in on themselves, just like they were supposed to.

When Harry pulled away, his lips wet with Louis’ saliva, a dent on the either side of his bottom lip from Louis’ little fangs, one hand still holding Louis’ and the other the ukulele, he thought he saw red from the corner of his eye, the one closer to the window.

Louis gave him no chance to look, though, as he began to laugh and, letting go of Harry’s hand in favour of his shoulders and neck, pulled their foreheads together, laughing loudly, animatedly, right into Harry’s mouth, who laughed back, until they kissed again, but for just a moment, before Louis pulled away completely, yawning all of a sudden. Harry laughed again, but a different, less meaningful kind of a laugh.

He gripped Louis’ hand again and led him to the door at the end of the corridor, only to let their fingers slip from each other’s again so he could unlock the door and hold it open for Louis, despite being the one carrying three bags.

Louis hurried inside, and before anything else, before his eyes could get used to the dimness and he could see anything, his nose was filled with the strong, pungent smell of incense and something else, too, that he could not give a name to. He began heaving breaths, finding the smell extraordinary and life-changing, in a way, for some reason, before he heard the door fall shut and Harry’s bag, guitar, and ukulele hitting the ground one by one with soft thumps.  
About then, his eyes began to get used to the darkness – the only light being the illumination seeping in from outside – and he became even more bewildered, eyes flooding with the new scenery.

He was not sure if it was just because Harry was yet to turn the lights on, but the walls looked dark, and so did the furniture, browns, blacks and the darkest tones of different colours mixing into a mass of a flat, small in surface, but big in aura. With a soft hand on his shoulder – he had learned, by now, to simply guide Louis around physically, when he lost touch with the world for a moment – Harry showed Louis to the sofa, where he sat down, eyes still running around aimlessly, roaming the flat, trying desperately to take in everything.

A second later, Harry turned on the ceiling lamp. Indeed, the colours became lighter, but still, he could spot whites only here and there, the walls dark brown, the couch he was sitting on a few shades darker, the coffee table in front of him and the shelves and cupboards around him a matching, but still dark brown in colour.

Louis did not see, as he was turned away towards the kitchenette, – the only large white surface in the whole flat – when Harry plopped down next to him on the couch, but felt it, instead.  
               “Hey?” he asked, tapping Louis on his shoulder, “Earth to Louis?”  
Louis puffed out a laugh, feeling himself, indeed, come back to Earth, as he turned to Harry. He made a noise, asking Harry a question. Harry pointed to his feet.  
               “I’d appreciate it if you took off your shoes.”

Louis turned to look at them, and right away realised what was wrong. Indeed, he was still wearing his jacket, too, and had not even taken off his backpack. Chuckling, he slipped that from his shoulders first and leaned down, then, to pull open the strings of his vans and knock them off, holding them up towards Harry, unsure what to do with them.

Harry beckoned towards the corridor and front door with his head, to which Louis replied with turning around and tossing the shoes in the direction. Harry sighed deeply, shaking his head.  
                   “I-” he said, grimacing and pulling his sweatshirt off over his head, before going on, “I’m not even gonna say anything.”

Louis laughed, rubbing his eyes and going back to looking around the room while Harry got up. As he had seen before, behind him was the small kitchen, an inbuilt cupboard that could be shut with a moving wall so to hide it; from important business guests, Louis reckoned. At the opposite corner, farthest from Louis, was laying on the ground a large, double mattress, covered in a red sheet with a few pillows and a blanket crumpled on it, along with a number of books and newspapers. Next to the mattress there stood a shelf, dark brown like the rest of the flat, filled from top to bottom, every last bit, with books, magazines, folders and anything he could have thought of. On one of the shelves, a long row of candles sat, differing greatly in size and level of usage, and in the middle of it all, a wooden incense platter with the stick, just the top of it burnt.

Harry walked up to it just as Louis was about to turn his gaze unto the wall, holding a lighter, and lit it, sticking around until the first strings of smoke had reached his nose. Next, he walked up to the window, which Louis had yet to notice despite it being right across from him, for it had been covered with large curtains that Harry pulled out of the way now. The view from it was almost exactly the same as the one from the corridor, and Louis sighed happily when he saw that, wishing to run up to it and press his face against the glass and pretend to fly above it all, but could not bring his legs to move.

Harry was leaning over the sill, and what he was doing Louis could not see, as his body was blocking the view, but when he walked away, quietly, a slow blues song began to play,  and Louis saw the iPhone stereo set, standing out somehow from the rest of the flat, because of its obvious price, perhaps.

As the song commenced and the vocals began, a higher, throaty male voice that Louis found familiar but could not identify, Harry began humming along, walking around the small flat. Louis had pulled his feet up and made himself really quite comfortable, and nursed no thoughts of getting up any time soon, but was just about to turn around on the sofa, to see what Harry was up to, when he appeared seemingly out of nowhere, face close to Louis’, startling him, singing softly.

                   “ _Just Louis and his lover..._ ” Harry sang into his ear, misquoting the lyrics to his preference. Louis began to laugh and tried to push Harry away; having heard the correct words with his other ear, knowing they spoke of a girl named Louise, and her lover, but at heart relishing both the feeling of Harry so close to him, and the thought of Harry calling himself his lover, even if jokingly.

A moment later Harry was back at his ear, leant over the back of the sofa, wrapping his arms around Louis’ neck and humming his ear, swaying them side to side slowly. Louis let him for a moment, before Harry’s breath on his skin began to tickle, and he started laughing again, pushing him away finally now. Harry let go of him, turning around and sitting down on the edge of the back of the sofa, holding onto it with both hands. He did not start speaking right away, instead let the moment drag on, Louis and him staring at each other, both on the brim of laughter.

                   “D’you want something? A drink or a snack or?” Harry asked, trailing off and glancing at the kitchen and back at Louis. He shrugged, spluttering thoughtfully and busying his fingers a moment later by playing with Harry’s.  
                   “Some tea would be nice,” he finally concluded, pouting askance up at Harry. Harry smirked, nodding and slowly standing up, pulling his fingers from Louis’ grip.  
                   “Good thing I put enough water in the kettle, then.”

Louis threw his head back momentarily, resting the side of his face on the back of the sofa a moment later, having turned around completely, his back to the arm of the couch. He watched Harry fuss about in the kitchen for a bit longer, his inquiry if he could be of any help declined with a sway of Harry’s hand, until he remembered the food in his bag, and in Harry’s, too, most likely.  
                   “H,” he said, already zipping open his bag. Harry turned his head, running his hand through his hair and after it fell back into his face right away, pulling the hairtie from around his wrist, annoyed.  
                   “Yeah?” he asked. Louis pulled the burger from his bag and shook it slightly. “That should go in the fridge, don’t you think; and your salad.”

Harry chuckled, nodding exaggeratedly, about to walk to his bag when Louis got up himself, feeling like the initial shock - where or why it had come from in the first place, he did not know – had passed, and he could move around again. Harry watched him walk the few steps to the door and zip open Harry’s bag, rummaging through it for a moment before he found the plastic-wrapped box of salad.

Holding that and his burger, he walked up to Harry and handed them to him, who took the objects and put them away into the fridge – a small cabinet at the bottom of the kitchenette wall that Louis had not even noticed.

Another thing he had managed to disregard was the counter island spanning from the kitchen cupboards, making a u-turn and rising in height to form something similar to a bar table. In front of it stood three stools, unto one of which he sat, resting his elbows on the table and his head on his wrists, fingers spanned over his cheeks.

Harry was standing with his back to Louis, but turned around then, holding two bottles, seemingly of beer or cider, in his hands. One of them was open and had already been sipped from, and that he set on the surface before him, still holding onto the closed one.

                   “Pear cider,” he said, leaning the bottle towards Louis, holding it with two fingers around the neck so Louis could read the label. It seemed nice enough and Louis was feeling a little rough in the throat, and had never minded pear cider, so he took the bottle resting his chin on it while holding out one hand for an opener. Harry handed it to him and walked away from the table then, to his bag, crouching down at it.

He spent a few moments finding the small closed compartment in the lining of the bag, until he found the zipped pocket and unzipped it quickly, pulling the plastic bag from inside it with a smirk. He pushed himself up with hands on his knees and squeezing the bag tightly between his fingers, walked back up to Louis, slowly dropping the bag on the table in front him.  
He rested his hands on the edge of the counter and leaning closer to him, resting his weight on his arms, watched Louis eyeing the packet.

                   “Weed,” he finally said, raising his eyebrows up at Harry.  
Harry was not sure what Louis was trying to tell him with that.  
                   “Yes,” he replied, taking the pack, only to let it drop again when he remembered the papers and the tobacco was in the cupboard behind him. He turned to the shelves and rummaged through the mess in them, – it had been a while – finally finding what he had been looking for and turning back towards Louis, sitting across from him on a stool on the other side. **  
** He opened the pack of papers first, pulling out two to lay them on the table, then reached for the plastic bag and opened it carefully, pulling out the little balls of dried marijuana.  
He began moulding it into a more powdery mix on the thin pieces of paper. Louis watched him, eyes intent, nose filled with the pungent odour of the unlit cannabis. After Harry had been picking apart the green for a while, throwing out the stems and cutting pieces in half with the tips of his fingernails, he looked up at Louis, holding out his fingers.

                   “Smell,” he said, his open palm towards Louis. The boy leaned in, his nose close to Harry’s fingers, and breathed in squeamishly, before pulling back, scrunching his nose and eyes in an unsure grimace.  
                   “Do you like it?” he asked, before voicing any opinions. Harry looked up at him under his brows, fingers still working the weed. Louis elaborated, “The smell.”

To that, Harry nodded, smirking and nodding his head softly.  
                   “Yeah,” he said, bringing the fingers of his left hand to his face, inhaling. “Yeah, I do,” he repeated.

Louis nodded, too, slowly, but said nothing more. He was not sure whether or not he liked the smell. There was something about it, some freshness, he enjoyed, but at the same time the earthy, skunky smell that filled his nose right away, before the sweet bloom, turned him off a little, giving the green a dirty feel.

He sat quietly, watching Harry finish off his work with the marijuana and let it drop onto the papers, wiping his fingers on each other so the last pieces, stuck to his fingers, fell off. He opened the bag of tobacco next to the papers and the weed and let a little bit of its insides – dry, brown pieces – fall into the mix. Then, as a final touch between rolling, he opened the other plastic bag next to the tobacco and dropped a thin white filter to the bottom of the joint. He adjusted everything, and finally, carefully, with nimble fingers, he lifted the papers with the mix still on them and began rolling them together between his fingers, creating a small, tube-like stick, the weed and tobacco hanging out from the front.

The joint almost ready to be lit, he held up the edge of the paper where the strip of glue ran from start to end, and looking into Louis’ eyes cheekily, put out his tongue, running it from the middle to the end, and then back to the front, wetting everything. Once that was done, the joint was ready to be lit, Harry just pinched up the end of it, to make sure nothing fell out.

Then, he handed it to Louis. It took a moment for him to realise Harry was not just showing off his skills and actually wanted Louis to take the blunt from him, but when Harry shook it towards him ever so softly, he got the hint and took it between his fingers, very aware of its lightness and fragility. While Louis held it, Harry sat up, grabbing the things from the desk and tossing them back to their places on the shelves.

From a drawer in one of the cupboards, he pulled out a lighter, and turned back to Louis then, holding out his hand. Louis dropped the joint into his open palm and Harry closed his fingers around it slowly.  
                   “Let’s go to the loo, there’s no smoke detector there,” he said, pointing at the ceiling with the same hand, index pointing towards the once-in-a-while blinking white machine, three fingers wrapped around the weed.

Louis nodded, unsure which way to go to, following Harry in the few steps to the bathroom. He had not noticed the door, right next to the front door, exactly the same in colour as the walls and the door knob only a few subtle shades darker too. Harry opened the door and stepped in, waiting until Louis was in and had closed the door before sitting down.

The bathroom was cramped, to say the least, the toilet and the sink taking up some of the room, and the rest of it positively filled with the huge shower, beaming white and glossy in the lights, the silver shower-, and massage heads hurting Louis’ eyes if he spent too long looking at them. Still, around the round shower there was some room left, which apparently had to be enough for Harry and Louis.

Harry sat down first, squeezing himself between the shower and the wall, pulling up his feet so Louis fit between him and the toilet pot, his back to the wall. Harry sighed happily, exhaling deeply before bunching up his lips and sticking the joint between them, holding the lighter underneath the tip. After a few tries, the flame appeared and began burning the paper, until it turned black and slowly began to glow, the paper and tobacco cannabis mix burning calmly without a flame.

With a wide smile on his lips, Harry took the first pull, inhaling ever so slowly, his chest rising to its boundary and collapsing back again, then, when he exhaled the smoke. He was about to hand the joint to Louis, when his eyes cleared from the smoke and he saw him sitting, arms wrapped around his calves, chin rested on knees, watching Harry, eyes curious as well as anxious, the fright hidden as best as he could, but still visible to Harry.  
                   “Louis,” he said, sitting up straight, looking at Louis with wide eyes, “You okay? You- you have got high before, right?”  
Louis sighed quietly, moving his head so his cheek was rested on his knees instead of his chin.  
                   “K-kinda,” he stuttered, trying to shrug, but his body not really moving in the position he was sitting in. Harry was about to say something, but he went on. “I mean, I’ve been with friends while they’ve done it, I just- I never took a hit.” He formed the end of the sentence into a question.

Harry chuckled, closing his eyes and exhaling, before pulling another hit, a smaller one, and sliding closer to Louis over the tiles, then. Through what kind of magic neither of them new, he managed to fit himself between the shower and Louis, with his back to the wall, too, wrapping his free arm around Louis’ shoulder and holding the joint close to his face, wise expression on his face.

                   “Are you absolutely sure you wanna do this?” he asked, eyebrows furrowed.  
Louis bit the inside of his cheek, watching the redness at the tip of the blunt where it was burning. Slowly but surely, movements increasing in speed and the distance his chin covered, he nodded, until sitting up straight and letting go of his legs.  
                   “Yeah, yeah I am,” he said holding out two fingers to take the blunt from Harry. Harry began to hand it over, but pulled it back again at the last moment.  
                   “Absolutely?” he asked.

Louis sighed, rolling his eyes, “Yes,” he repeated himself, snapping his fingers towards the joint like tweezers. Harry laughed, shaking his head as if telling Louis not to blame him for anything later. Finally, Louis took the joint from between Harry’s fingers, holding it tightly, carefully, and brought it to his lips.  
                   “Now just, breathe it in,” Harry guided him, voice low. Louis did as told, closing his eyes and sucking in the smoke through the filter. He kept going until the smoke reached his throat and roughly pushed it away from him then, coughing violently. Before Louis could drop it, Harry pulled the joint from between his cramped fingers, patting him on his back with his free hand. He knew this was going to happen, it always did the first time.

Louis calmed in a minute, wiping his wet eyes, and turned to Harry, face bowled over. He coughed momentarily more, when he opened his mouth to speak, but managed to find his voice in a moment.  
                   “That was,” – he could not think of a fitting word – “Strange.”

Harry’s face kept disappearing behind the ropes of thick smoke, and reappearing again. His eyes were already a little hazy, as he listened to Louis and nodded along.  
                   “Lemme guess,” he drawled, lips lazy, “It felt horrible, but for some reason you liked it?”  
Louis nodded, biting his lip. Harry went on, “Yeah, that’s how it was for me the first time. It hurts, kinda, but you like it,” he said, chuckling, before taking another short pull of the blunt and handing it to Louis.  
                   “You ready for another try?”

Hesitantly, Louis took the joint and stuck it between his lips. He breathed in slowly, less deeper than last time, and inhaled as much of the smoke as he could, breathing the rest out. He coughed, still, but a lot more easily than before, calming down in a second and going to take another pull only a moment later.

Harry watched him, nodding along in encouragement, all the while biting his bottom lip discreetly. He could not tell if it was because of the weed, or just the fact that after all those hours he finally had Louis all to himself, – in an empty flat with no one around until their friends arrived back from the clubs, if they did not decide to crash at someone else’s place - but with the thin joint between his lips, nimble, thin fingers holding onto the stub, wet eyes closed while he inhaled, and eyelashes fanning on his cheeks, Louis looked ethereal to Harry.

Finally, he took the blunt from between his lips and opened his eyes, turning to Harry and blowing the smoke in his face. He giggled, and Harry laughed too, taking the joint from his hand and bringing it to his own lips.

Harry was really feeling the weed begin to hit now. He felt soft, somehow, and more and more attracted towards Louis with every passing moment. He supposed, now, that getting high had always made him slightly horny, but never before had he got high with someone who he actually would have liked to fuck, so never before had the feeling been as evident.

By the time the blunt reached Louis, who had taken a few hits before passing it back to Harry, again, all and any head-to-mouth or head-to-body filters had disappeared completely, leaving Harry at the complete restraint of his impulses.

Louis watched him as Harry inhaled the smoke slowly, little more than just the stub of the joint left after his long pulls. He remembered a party a few months back, where his friends, a couple, had done some strange kissing thing with the joint, or rather, the smoke from the joint. He could not remember the word for it right away, but after thinking about it for a moment, it came back to him.

Shyly, he inquired Harry about it.  
                   “Harry, do you think we could, erm, shotgun?” he asked, voice small. Immediately, Harry’s face perked up and he sat up more straight, licking his lips. Then, his face fell again, but just a little.  
                   “It looks better than it feels,” he said, eyeing the burning end of the joint, “But we can, if you want to. I like it.”

Louis looked from Harry’s face to the joint and back, before shrugging and turning a little – as much as he could with barely any room to move – towards Harry. His arm slipped from around Louis and he got up on his knees, Louis following suit. They faced each other and Harry went to put the joint between his lips.

                   “You sure?” he asked, holding the blunt millimetres from his lips. Louis nodded, his lips falling open, jaw slack. Harry swallowed thickly, almost audibly, and put the joint between his lips before leaning close to Louis. He realised he had not explained to Louis what to do, but instinctively, he opened his mouth and Harry leaned in the final bit, so the red, hot part of the joint was past Louis’ lips.

Harry pulled some smoke into his lungs, exhaling through his nose and through the side of his mouth and slowly, the smoke made its way into Louis’ mouth. Harry took another pull and took the joint from his lips, holding it between his fingers. Louis had begun to cough, hiding his face from Harry, wiping his once-again watering eyes. Harry sat back and let him calm down, inhaling the final pull still left in the joint, holding back from exhaling it.

Louis had quieted and was looking at him, hands in his lap, eyes red and mouth open. Harry exhaled unhurriedly and let the joint drop from between his fingers; the burn dying with nothing but the filter left in it, it rolled away from Harry and Louis, who paid no mind to it, too lost in each other’s faces. There was a curtain of smoke between and all around them, muddying the outlines and dimming the colours. Slowly, Harry leaned in, swallowing, his right hand falling to Louis’ lap to grasp his left, and they kissed.

It took a while for their lips to meet, because their noses bumped before anything and they began to laugh, but gradually, they tilted their faces and their mouths touched, a kiss that started off easy growing heated, while still leisurely, soon.

Louis moved closer with his body after a moment, Harry wrapping his free arm around Louis’ waist and pulling him until he was sitting more in his lap than on the floor. Louis wound his arm around Harry’s neck, pulling on his hair while they kissed, neither entertaining any thoughts of stopping any time soon.

Shortly, they had moved close enough to each other the hands clasped together between their bodies became uncomfortable and they let go, Harry’s arm joining his other around Louis’ body and Louis’ around Harry’s neck. They kissed until they ran out of breath and their teeth had bumped more than thrice; then they pulled away, laughing into each other’s mouths.

Finally, Louis rested his head on Harry’s shoulders, winding the hair on the nape of his neck around his index finger, Harry tapping a song onto his back and humming in his ear. Neither of them could tell later how long they sat like that.

                   “I’m hungry,” Louis spoke quietly, face smushed against Harry’s skin, words barely audible. Harry laughed, patting his side.  
                   “That’s what weed does,” he replied. Louis lifted his head, a single eyebrow raised.  
                   “That’s why people always drone about ‘munchies’?” he asked, breaking one hand free from Harry’s hair to make air-quotes.

Harry began to laugh, suddenly, throwing his head back, eyes shutting tight and mouth opening wide, body almost convulsing. Seeing him like that, Louis began to laugh too, bursting out loudly, slipping from Harry’s lap. All of a sudden, Harry hit his head against the wall and while it hurt, it only made him laugh more, as he rested his forehead on the same wall, very carefully this time, banging against it with open palms.

Louis had let himself fall back and was lying on the floor, staring up at the ceiling with wet eyes, this time not from coughing, but laughing. After a long while they calmed down, silence falling on the room again, until Harry scrambled himself up from the floor arduously and leaned over Louis, smiling down at him.

                 “Let’s get out of here,” he said, holding out his hand. Louis hummed in approval, raising his hand and grasping Harry’s, letting him pull him up. Louis put barely any effort into getting up himself, and could not help but bite his lip at how easily Harry pulled him up with only one hand.

Following Harry, they toppled out of the bathroom, gasping at the sudden chilly feel of the fresh air in the living room. A shiver ran through Louis’ body and he wrapped his arms around his body, feeling cold. He made his way to the sofa and fell onto it heavily, pulling his feet up. Pressed between the cushions, he began feeling warmer by the second.

A few minutes later, Harry appeared with a plate: on it were Louis’ burger and his salad, still in its box, as well as some animal crackers and a cut up apple. He laid it on the coffee table in front of them, a box of orange juice appearing seemingly out of nowhere next to it, too. After that, he plopped down next to Louis, lifting his feet over his lap.

He leaned towards the table immediately and took the box of salad, opening the lid and starting to shove the contents into his mouth rapidly. Louis watched him quietly for a moment, finding it hard to fixate on anything in this pot induced haze. Finally, he found the strength to speak up.  
                   “H, can I’ve tha’ burger?” he asked, lips lazy.

Harry laughed a bit at the way he spoke and leaned down again, taking the burger and handing it to him. He had finished eating himself, having downed the food that quickly, so he watched Louis while he ate, eyes wide and shameless.

Louis paid no mind to it, biting into the food with such fervour his face was covered in the sauce and breadcrumbs when he pulled the burger away once more to chew his mouthful. Harry laughed while watching him, but while there was little to nothing sexy about Louis’ actions, he could not help but imagine himself licking Louis’ face clean.  
Louis had a single bite left and he was popping it in his mouth when Harry’s lust for him grew unbearable and he swallowed, gripping Louis’ feet.

Louis felt him suddenly grasp him, but ignored it, chewing on his last mouthful thoughtfully, wondering how long it took to make one of those burgers – from the very first steps, growing the plants and animals, to packaging. A second passed and he heard Harry mumble something, but did  not pick it up, and lost in thought, decided to ignore that, too.

Harry repeated himself, and Louis noted something dark in his tone, an irritation of a sort, but still Louis stayed from paying attention to him.  
Harry sighed, squeezing Louis’ calves, until he was forced to lift his head as the touch was becoming uncomfortable.  
                   “Come here,” Harry said, for the third time. Louis frowned, not understanding what Harry wanted from him. He burst out laughing then.  
                   “I can’t, if you don’t let go of me,” he said. Harry nodded slowly, realising Louis was right, and let go of his legs. Sluggishly, Louis pulled his feet from Harry’s lap and underneath his body so he could climb his way to him on his knees. As soon as he was close enough, Harry reached out and pulled him in his lap harshly, arms shooting out to grip him and stroke his back and thighs, needing to touch.

Louis giggled against his hair, when Harry leaned to kiss his neck, sucking a mark onto the thin, tender skin of Louis’ throat. He went on for a while, licking all over his neck, breathing him in and feasting on his body, and Louis let him gladly, giggling when it tickled and whimpering quietly when Harry brushed over an especially sensitive spot.  
                   “Harry,” Louis said, voice barely more than a whimper, pawing at his back to get him to look up at him. After a second he did, eyes barbarous; he hummed for a second, for Louis to go on. Instead, he leaned down and pushed his lips against Harry’s, who pulled him closer more than gladly and began to work on his lips with the same zeal as on his neck. While Harry worked them together, still gripping Louis and sliding his hands over his skin, seemingly reaching everywhere, Louis laughed, gripping his hair and letting go of it again over and over, lost in Harry as hopelessly as he was lost in Louis.

After a while long enough to become uncountable, Louis started to pull away slightly, dodging Harry’s touches and laughing into his mouth more than kissing. It was not that he had stopped wanting Harry, nothing of the like, if his pants were anything to go by their doings were only just reaching their pinnacle, but his thoughts had began to wonder and he suddenly wanted to do something else. Specifically, he wanted to dance.

He managed to pull away after another long while; the weed had made Harry absolutely animalistic – not that Louis minded, - and when he did, Harry’s arms still stayed tightly around his body, one on his waist, the other gripping his thigh. Louis was panting, somewhat breathless, lips and eyes wet and wide, and orgasmic-looking to Harry.

                   “I wanna dance,” Louis said, blinking to dry his eyes and shutting his mouth to swallow. Harry stared at him for a moment, his words not quite reaching him, but after blinking a few times more than natural, nodded, understanding.  
                   “Yeah, yeah, yeah...” he mumbled, letting go of Louis so he could climb off. “Lemme put something on, wait,” he spoke, rushing towards the iPhone loudspeaker. He crouched down to it and biting his bottom lip, anxious, suddenly, put together a short playlist so something unsuitable would not interrupt them. Ready, he attached his phone to the wire in the little hole made for it, and stood up, turning the music higher.

A guitar began strumming quietly, and soon enough a male voice began to sing. It sounded old, like the blues they had listened to before, but not the same artist. It was just what Louis had wanted.

He had stood in the middle of the compact living room, waiting for something to dance to, and now that it had come, began swaying his body side to side slowly. Harry let him dance alone for a little bit, sipping on the tepid orange juice, watching as Louis circled around on the carpet, biting his lip through his smile, moving his wrists and hips in time to the slow music.  
Soon enough the song reached its bridge in the middle, an instrumental, psychedelic-sounding part and spewed on by the sudden change, Louis opened his eyes and turned to Harry. 

                   “Dance with me, Harry!” he exclaimed, rushing to him, holding out his hands.  
Harry smirked, making quick work of corking up the tetra carton and letting it fall to the table, before he grasped Louis’ open arms and began twirling around with him in the room.  
Together, they laughed more than they moved, but it made no difference as dancing only served as a substitute to kissing, possibly having sex, whatever it was that was holding back Harry from asking, stopped, and Louis gained the necessary certainty.

The song ended soon, and another one began. Unlike the previous song, this was nothing if not modern, pure electronica at its finest.  The tune as well as the lyrics were more sensual than the one before had been and despite it being more upbeat, Harry and Louis soon found themselves with faces inches apart, bodies rubbing together lightly. Closing his eyes, doing it on purpose but knowing he would have done it without thinking anyway, Louis slid his arms slowly, almost sexually up Harry’s arms and behind his back, all the while swaying his hips tacitly, Harry’s hands rested on them. The second song ended and the third one began, and Harry realised he had managed to list the songs lowest to highest in level of sexiness, meaning Louis kept being encouraged.

Soon enough, their bodies were pressed tightly together, Louis’ lips grazing Harry’s neck, tickling him while he hummed along to the repetitive tune, until Harry could take it no longer and the urges, the desire, and the thirst he had been downplaying, took control of him once again. His fingers pierced into Louis on their own accord, his breathing becoming heavy with him so close, yet so far: so many layers of cloth between them, and such a long way from Louis’ mouth to his.

He managed to keep himself intact for half of the next song, a slow, heartbroken one that almost ruined the mood, but by the second verse made Louis press himself so much closer to Harry, it ended up being the tipping point instead of a killjoy.

Harry let go of Louis’ hip with one hand and raised it to his face, gently lifting his chin with two fingers so their eyes could meet. Louis stared at him for a moment, before bursting out in giggles and shaking his head so Harry’s hand fell. Harry laughed too, but while Louis’ sounded light and animated, Harry’s stayed as dark and earthy as his mood.

Before Louis could duck down to his neck again, he did so himself, going to kiss Louis’ neck and bite one of the bruises he had sucked there before. Louis gasped at the sudden piercing pain, but calmed when Harry’s tongue licked over his tender skin, soothing it. He kissed up his jaw to the bottom of his ear and bit into his earlobe, making sure to keep the pressure just on the right side of too much.

                   “You drive me crazy,” he breathed into his ear, swallowing openly.  
Louis closed his eyes, panting, throat dry suddenly, arms and legs buzzing, and he realised if it was not for Harry’s arms so strong around him, he would have fallen to the floor. As if he had not had enough, Harry kept going, kissing the front of his ear.

                   “Been wanting you all day- Want to do all kinds of horrible things to you, fuck, wanna ruin you.”  
A part of Harry himself was confused by his words, by where the sudden dominance, power had come from, but a majority of him went with it naturally, so badly needing to have Louis, to take him. And Louis was more than happy to give himself away, offering his neck for Harry to kiss, clawing down his back with his blunt fingernails, whining and mewling along to Harry’s words. He had not expected something like this from Harry, but would not have given it away for the world, at that moment.

Somehow, they had reached the sofa and Harry fell onto it, pulling Louis with him and into his lap. There, they began to kiss properly, rubbing together their groins through their trousers, moaning into each other’s mouths and sliding their arms over the other’s bodies everywhere they could. Harry’s hands slowly made their way under Louis’ shirt, grasping his hot, soft skin, kneading it between his fingers before moving to another spot and repeating his movements.

Louis was just about to do the same, wanting nothing more than to rip off Harry’s shirt and feel his skin under his fingertips, his muscles, when an alarm bell went off at the back of his head; his head which he had been completely disregarding for the last half an hour or so.

                   “Wait,” he suddenly yelled, breaking his nearly bleeding lips away from Harry, pushing himself as far away as he could from Harry, by stretching out his arms with his palms against his pecs. “Wait,” he repeated himself, “Are we- Are we actually gonna, you know, have sex?” he asked, feeling a minor, but still very much existing panic wash over him.

Harry blinked up at him, the sex-haze gone, so all that remained was a mix of clear head and pot.  
                   “Erm,” he mumbled, dumbfounded. “I- fuck, I don’t know.”  
He was going to say something about it being Louis’ choice, about being up for it only if Louis was, when:

_“’M twenty... What about you?”_

_..._

_“I’m seventeen.”_

                   “Shit,” he mumbled, letting go of Louis’ body, pulling his hands to his chest as if he had burned himself. “I- Fuck, Louis, how old are you?” he asked, just to make sure.  
Louis frowned, realising where this was heading, and sighed sorely.  
                   “Seventeen,” he whispered, voice barely more than air leaving his mouth. Harry sighed, too.  
                   “I’m sorry, love, I got so carried away-”  
                   “So did I, Harry!” Louis interrupted him, crossing his arms over his chest. “And I still am. Like, I- I just got freaked out for a second, I still want to do this.” His voice lost its vitality the longer he spoke.  
Harry sighed, wrapping his arms back around Louis’ waist, only this time there was nothing sexual about it.  
                   “I mean,” –he made a long pause, unsure how to put it- “It’s illegal.”  
Louis sighed.  
                   “I want it too, like,” Harry went on, squeezing Louis’ sides gently, and rubbing his back, “You’re, fuck, you’re absolutely obscene, but it wouldn’t be right. I wouldn’t want you to-”  
                   “I’m not gonna regret it,” Louis stated harshly, before Harry could finish. Harry smirked, shaking his head.  
A huge part of him was yelling at him by now, asking him what the fuck was wrong with him for not already being at least half naked.  
                   “You might not, you might; it’s not worth the risk,” he said, internally yelling back at that part of him, to make it shut up. Louis sighed, rubbing his eyes. Why the fuck did he have to panic like that.  
                   “It is, though,” he finally replied, realising he was not at the best of his debating skill, still high when he paid mind to it. “I really, really want it. I panicked for a moment, I know, but like, it’s probably just the weed but it doesn’t make a differen-”  
                   “It does make a difference, though, Louis. I don’t want you to hate me, and most importantly I couldn’t hurt you.”  
                   “You wouldn’t.”

Harry sighed again. The part of him mad at himself still had not shut up, and he was beginning to give in to Louis. Still, one point remained.  
                   “It’s illegal, though, so there’s nothing I can do about it.”  
For a moment, Louis was about to give up, when he remembered, and burst out laughing, instead.  
                   “Y-you do realise,” he stammered between his laughter, “That we just smoked weed.”  
Harry gawked at him, blinking. Louis was right.  
                   “It’s not like having sex with me would be any more illegal than what we already did, I mean-” Louis could not finish, his laughter took control of him once again.  
After a moment, Harry joined him, and Louis knew Harry was wrapped around his finger.  
                   “Fair point,” he hiccupped the words, Louis bouncing up and down on top of him, still in his lap. In a few minutes they quieted and Louis licked his lips, resting his hands on Harry’s shoulders.

                   “So?” he asked, rubbing his thumbs into Harry’s skin. Harry sighed, pulling Louis closer to him again, but still hesitant to proceed.  
                   “I don’t know,” Harry groaned, kneading on Louis’ hips the same way Louis was on his shoulders. Louis sighed, too, and leant closer to him, brushing together their noses.  
                   “But I want it,” he said, voice high on purpose, “And so do you, I know you do.” He leant close to Harry’s ear and resting his head on his shoulder, making sure to rub his lips against Harry’s ear, murmured, “Please.”  
                   “Fuck-” Harry choked out, fingers tightening around Louis’s body.

Louis smirked; that was exactly the reaction he wanted and needed. Slowly, he started to work his hips against Harry’s groin, rubbing together their crotches, creating friction that felt amazing to him and must have driven Harry even crazier.

That went on for a little while, Harry having lost all control over the situation, sitting with his head thrown back while Louis ground on him, kissing his neck every once in a while and making a show of whining into his ear.  
At the back of his head, the voice protesting against it all suddenly spoke up again, and Harry lifted his head.  
                   “But Louis,” he sighed, voice small and defeated, “I know we both want this but like, I’m the older one, I’m supposed to be smarter than you and know that this isn’t like, right I-”  
                  “Shush,” Louis interrupted, lifting his head. He was frowning, clearly annoyed with still not having succeeded completely. He puffed out a laugh after a second, though, stroking his hands softly down Harry’s cheeks, massaging the frown off his face. “You make me sound like a ten year old who can't think for himself!”

Harry laughed, too, then, grimacing.  
                   “That’s disgusting, Louis!”  
They laughed together for a while, until Louis rested his head on Harry’s shoulder again, without any intentions this time, and calmed himself down, too, realising maybe it was a good idea to talk this through before. He pulled one leg from around Harry and lifted it over him so he was sitting sideways in his lap and grasped his suddenly free hand, intertwining their fingers.

                   “Okay, but can we talk about it, at least?” he asked, voice hopeful. Harry turned his head, surprised, but glad at his sudden change of mind.  
                   “Of course,” he replied, squeezing Louis’ small hand. “And don’t get me wrong, god, I want nothing more than to throw you on the bed right now and-”  
                   “Shut up before I get horny again!” Louis exclaimed, making Harry laugh.  
                   “Sorry, sorry, didn’t mean to, yeah. What I wanted to say like, I want you too. But we can’t look past the fact that you’re seventeen.”  
                   “How old were you then, when you had sex the first time?”  
Harry frowned at him, realising there might have been more to Louis’ words. “You’re a- You haven’t had sex before?”  
Louis sighed. That wasn’t supposed to come out.  
                   “No, no, I have,” he half-lied, “I was just wondering.”  
Harry was not convinced at all, but went with Louis’ answer for the moment.  
                   “I was fifteen,” he admitted, then, but before Louis could make a comment, he raised a single finger, hand tied to Louis’, “But she was fifteen, too, so it was different. Now, be honest with me, have you had sex before?”  
Louis sighed, unhappy with the turn of events. “Yes, I have,” he said, honestly. Harry caught the hook right away, though.  
                   “Have you had sex with a guy, though?”

Louis grimaced, shutting his teeth and stretching out his mouth, neck cramping. Harry sighed, chuckling a quiet, serious laugh. Before he could say anything, though, Louis chirped up.  
                  “But like- I’ve done stuff meself, and- And I trust you. It’s stupid maybe, and maybe I shouldn’t, but I do,” he rushed, face sincere. “I want this so much, like, fuck,” –his head fell onto Harry’s shoulder- “I want you.”

Harry turned his head so he could look Louis in the eyes. He let go of Louis’ hand and brought his palm to his face, gently touching his soft, hot cheek.  
                   “Louis, my love,” he breathed, pulling him close and kissing him. “ _I’m going slightly mad, it finally happened, I’m slightly mad,_ ” he sang against Louis’ lips, making him giggle.  
                   “You are,” Louis mumbled, laughing again, “And so am I.”

Harry threw his head back, resting it on the edge of the sofa, pulling Louis close with both hands, stroking his body all over, before turning to him, to look at him for a long time.  
Harry’s stare was so intent, so focused, that only a few moments later Louis felt the need to avert his eyes, but while his gaze was alarming, it was also gripping, and Louis found himself staring right back, even blinking as rarely as he could. Quietly, they took each other in for a long while, sighing every once in a while, differing between frowning and smiling, but never saying anything. Harry was the first to break the silence.

                   “Are you sure?” he asked. The words were so simple, but Louis knew immediately what he meant, and as soon as he understood the question he also knew the answer. A smile grew onto his face slowly, starting by pulling up the corners of his mouth and finishing by almost shutting his eyes in delightful content.  
                   “Yes,” he spoke, voice certain.  
Harry sighed slowly, tranquillity washing over him.  
                   “Okay,” he murmured, before sitting up and pulling Louis with him. He thought of kissing him again, but decided to, instead, carry him to bed, the sooner the better. He lifted Louis' one leg over his lap as before, and his arms over his shoulders, then, standing up with only the smallest bit of strain. Already, Louis had begun to paw at his back and kiss at the junction of his neck and shoulder, delighted.

Harry carried Louis the short way from the couch to the mattress at the corner of the room, and kneeled then, careful. He laid Louis down on the bed, letting go of him, so he could climb up the bed and make himself comfortable.

Louis was going to lie down, already resting on his elbows, when he shrugged and sat up again, pulling off his t-shirt quickly. Harry widened his eyes at him, smiling jokingly, as if wanting to warn him not to go so fast, while not really meaning it.  
                   “I don’t have to get up again, now,” Louis explained himself cheekily, lying down and throwing his arms behind his head. Harry laughed, still sitting back, and pulled his own shirt off too, then, stretching it over his back and tossing it in the same general direction as Louis had.

Louis swallowed, when he finally saw Harry shirtless. The view was everything he had been expecting and more, the tattoos donning his chest and stomach surprising Louis. As Harry moved closer to Louis, he could not help but reach out and run his fingers first over the two delicate, beautiful swallows on his chest, circling first one’s then the other’s outline with his fingers. Harry hovered over him, bottom lip between his teeth, looking back and forth between what he could see of his chest and Louis’ face.

When he finished with the birds he moved on to the moth on Harry’s stomach, encircling it too, tickling him lightly, making Harry pull in his mouth and giggle momentarily.

Finally, he reached the vines at the bottom of his stomach, one on either side of his v-line. Compared to the other three, touching those tattoos, so much closer to Harry’s groin, made the air around them more intimate, both Harry’s and Louis’ breathing heavying as Harry stood on his knees above Louis, touching him slowly. When he finished, he pulled his hand away quickly, as if he had committed his actions in a haze and only now realised what he had just done.

When he looked up at Harry, he was staring at him, eyes dark with the same lust from before, but he smiled slowly, reassuring Louis; and when Harry leant down, pushing Louis down onto his back completely, he knew he could never regret this. They kissed for a long time before Harry’s hands began to wonder down Louis’ body, over his chest, earning a whimper from him when his fingers brushed his nipples, down his stomach, to his groin, where he spent plenty of time touching him before even thinking of taking off his trousers. In fact, Louis had to tell him to do that.

Laughing, he did, then, undoing Louis’ flies with practiced ease that made Louis wonder how many times exactly he had done this before. The thought went flying out of his head, though, when Harry started kissing his already love bite covered neck, while spreading his legs to climb between them, kneading on his thighs and rubbing over his crotch every once in a while.

He began grinding against him soon, starting up his own pleasure, groaning against Louis’ skin quietly when their crotches brushed and something felt especially good. When Louis suddenly made a louder, uncomfortable sounding noise, Harry immediately lifted his head, frowning, pulling away from him.  
                   “Everything alright?” he asked, eyes wide. Louis bit his lip, exhaling softly before nodding.  
                   “Yeah, just- Can you take off your jeans? They hurt a bit against my thighs, and not a good kind of a hurt.”  
Harry chuckled, sitting up so he could work on pulling off his trousers. “Sorry, fuck, I didn’t realise.”

He had to sit down to get them off completely, peeling the tight material from around his legs, laughing out loud when it trapped around his legs and would not come off. Eventually, he managed, throwing the trousers across the room with an irritated sigh. Louis had calmed his breath in the minutes Harry had spent away from him, and was giggling up at him when he climbed back over to him, rolling his eyes.

Urgently, Harry leaned down and started kissing his neck again, stroking his hands down his arms until he reached his wrists, gripping them and lifting them over Louis’ head, only to intertwine their fingers.  
                   “Wanna make you feel so good, god,” he murmured, not completely aware he was talking, himself. “Wanna make you see stars.”  
All Louis could do was lie back, expose his neck and moan, letting Harry go at him according to the best of his judgements.

Harry spent a while doing nothing more than kissing his neck, squeezing his hands only to let go of them to touch his body, only to grasp them again when he felt he could not contain himself. Finally, he pulled himself up on his knees, palms on either side of Louis’ head, hovering above him.

                   “You wanna get started?” he asked. Louis nodded; his throat had suddenly got very dry. Harry smiled down at him, squeezing his fingers, and kissed him lightly, innocently compared to what was about to happen. He let go of him then, and sat up, about to peel off Louis’ boxers, – something that had the boy’s breath hitched, hands cramped around his face – when he frowned, and shaking his head and mumbling, pulled himself up.

                   “Forgot something!” he hollered to Louis, padding to his back and finding the desired items. Louis watched him as he made his way back, nothing on but his small, tight boxer briefs, snug around his muscular stomach and thighs and positively tearing near his crotch. Louis refrained from licking his lips when the thought reached him; then again, a part of him was frightened, now, of what was going to happen.

Harry kneeled down to the mattress, laying the objects on the bed near Louis’ head. He turned to look, and was not surprised to see a bottle of lube and some condoms. He exhaled shakily, the situation becoming realer with every passing moment. Harry must have read it from his face, for he leaned close to him slowly, brushing Louis’ hair out of his face.

                   “You still sure?” he asked, lips between his teeth the moment he was finished, eyebrows raised. Louis sighed harshly, closing his eyes.                 
                   “I feel like a fucking baby,” he opened them again to look at Harry, smile at him, “I want this so bad but I’m kinda scared too-”  
                   “We don’t have to!”  
Louis immediately shook his head. “No, no, we will.”  
Harry chuckled, pressing a peck onto Louis’ lips, “If you say so,” –he swallowed- “Gonna take your pants off now, that okay?”  
Louis swallowed the lump in his throat, “Yeah.”

Harry smirked, crawling down his body to sit on his heels, hands reaching Louis’ middle perfectly.  
In under a minute, the underwear was gone, Louis completely bare, lying in front of Harry.  
                   “Breathe, Lou,” Harry said when a minute or two had passed. Instantaneously, Louis let go a deep breath he had not realised he’d been holding.

He remembered the first time he had had sex, in a pitch black bedroom during a house party a few months ago. The room had been so dark and the music so loud that him and the girl had barely even heard each other, not to mention seen.  Safe to say this time around he felt a lot more self conscious, especially thanks to what Harry could have been hiding in his pants.  
His fears washed out though, when Harry, licking his lips, rested his hands on his bare thighs, inches from where he wanted them the most. Louis inhaled sharply at the touch, unaware what was going to happen.

                   “May I touch you?” Harry asked.  
Louis wanted it, but as well, possibly more than that, he wanted Harry close to him, his lips on his skin and arms around him, like before. He sighed.  
                   “Can you kiss me while you do it?” he asked, voice small, “And hold me?”

Harry chuckled, taking his hands from his thighs and reaching closer to him, pulling him up with an arm on either shoulder. Sitting down on the mattress, then, he pulled Louis against himself, both of them on their knees.

That way he could wrap one arm around Louis’ middle, kiss him, touch him all over, and still see him, too. He did just that, letting Louis bring their lips together; his hands on Harry’s shoulder and in his hair, while he secured his grip on the bottom of his back and gently slid his hand up Louis’ thighs, until he reached his middle.

At the very first touch, Louis gasped. He bit into Harry’s lip while doing that, making Harry pull away with a quiet groan, but settle down with an apology against his lips a moment later, hands never leaving his body.

Like that they kept going for a while, Harry’s hands on Louis’ body - the one originally on his back soon slipped to knead his soft, plump bum – Louis’ against Harry’s chest to support himself while Harry worked him to full arousal.

Minutes passed, filled with kisses interrupted by moans, hands wandering across bodies, beginning to heat up in the sudden hotness the two created between them, and enough sexual electricity to light up the city of Paris. Somewhere in between it all Louis lost his inhibitions and wordlessly one of his hands slipped into Harry’s pants, timidly, at first.

Harry pulled away when he felt the movement, eyeing Louis, taken aback. Louis stared right back, eyes wide and wet, mouth pursed in a sly smile. He bit into his bottom lip when his fingers closed around Harry and he could feel him in his grasp, nearly hard and big, just like he had hoped for. Harry groaned at the touch, confusion dissolving into smugness as he registered Louis' obvious impression with him.

In a moment, though, when Louis was just keeping his hand there, not moving, obviously unsure how to proceed, Harry’s smile softened and he pulled his own hand from Louis.  
                   “Need help?” he asked, not a hint of mockery in his tone. Louis made a small noise, pretending to get to it, but realised then, that contrary to what he had thought, this was nothing like masturbating, just on someone else’s body.  
                   “Yeah,” he mumbled, pouting. Harry chuckled, resting his head against the side of Louis’, and slid his own hand into his pants, next to Louis’. He wrapped his fingers around Louis’ and began to move their hands together, creating against himself a wonderful friction that made him moan lowly,  pressing open mouthed kisses to Louis’ temple and cheek.  
                   “Just like that,” he said, reassuring Louis.

They went on for a while, hands on Harry, him ducking back down to Louis’ neck once again, to occupy himself on something and relax Louis further, while Louis figured out how to proceed. Soon enough, Harry lifted his head to look Louis in the eyes.

                   “You cool now?” he asked, eyes sincere. Louis nodded after a moment, biting his lip, and slowly, Harry pulled his fingers from around Louis’.  
Louis was about to go on, when Harry made a noise and let go of him completely, suddenly. Startled, he pulled away his hand.  
                   “Sorry, babe,” Harry murmured, standing up on the mattress for a second, to take off his pants. “It’s more comfortable that way; you okay?”  
Louis nodded hastily, swallowing as finally, he could not just feel Harry, but see him, too – see, just how big he was.

                   “You sure you’re okay?” Harry asked, having noticed Louis’ distress, and rested his hands on the sides of Louis’ face, kneeling in front of him. Louis bit more harshly into his lip, close to drawing blood.  
                   “I,” he began, stammering through the thought, “You’re- You’re big,” he said, finally, looking up at Harry, face frightened.  
It took Harry a moment to realise what the boy meant. He started laughing, when he did, his arms sliding from Louis’ waist to his shoulder, to his sides.  
                   “Baby,” he chuckled, squeezing Louis, “Thank you!”  
Louis chuckled, too, but there was little amusement in his tone. When nothing happened for a minute, Harry frowned.  
                   “Wait, did you mean like- Fuck, love, are you, like, scared?”  
Louis chuckled again, but once more, there was nothing funny about it.  
                   “No, I-” he began.  
                   “We don’t have to,” Harry immediately jumped in, voice deliberate. Louis shook his head.  
                   “No, no; I just thought, that’s gonna be in me and like-”  
                   “I’m saying, we don’t have to.”  
Louis shook his head again, “I want to, though, you have no idea how much I want to. It just freaked me out for a second. I-I’m cool now.”

Harry sighed, unsure, but knowing they both wanted it enough to find a way to make it happen.  
                   “Can I lay you down?” he asked, lifting his hands to Louis’ shoulders, rubbing his thumbs against the ends of his collarbones. Louis smiled and nodded.

Softly, Harry began pushing him down, Louis going slack under his touch until slowly, with a muffled thump, he fell on his back to the mattress. Harry climbed on top of him, licking his lips, and kissed him for a long time, alternating between stroking all over his body and holding his hands.

                   “I’m gonna take care of you, babe,” he whispered against his mouth, when he lifted one of his legs and settled it between Louis’ thighs, starting to spread them. Carried away by his lips, Louis did not even notice, and Harry was happy with that, set on keeping his mind off it until it was happening.

Soon enough both of Louis’ legs were around Harry, and still the boy had not even flinched, dragging his fingernails down Harry’s arms when he mouthed at his nipple, rubbing the other one between his fingers. He teased him for a moment longer, before lifting his head and swallowing deeply, reached out for the lube lying at the side of the mattress.

Louis’ breath hitched, his mouth falling agape when Harry’s actions reached him, but he forced himself to calm down. For a split second a voice at the back of his head reminded him of everything he wanted to forget – his family, how they knew nothing of his whereabouts, and perhaps most importantly, he had known Harry for less than a day, and now he was going to let him do to him what many people regarded as one of the most important parts of their lives.  
But suddenly, Harry was back, smiling down at him, face so soft, so tender, that all his fears vanished and transformed into nothing but trust, secure confidence that could have been called loyalty, for him. Harry kissed him and Louis let any final doubts wash away in their mixed saliva.

                   “Ready?” Harry’s voice reached him. Louis closed his eyes and nodded. For the first time in forever he heard the music in the distance, suddenly so far away, playing softly.  
                   “Yeah,” he replied, voice small but sure.  
With a gentle smirk, Harry lifted one of Louis’ legs over his shoulder for better leverage, and before he knew it, Louis could feel his fingers prodding against the most intimate part of his body.  
The first intrusion was uncomfortable at best, but at the first hint of discomfort Harry leaned down to him and kissed him, nosing against his cheek a moment later.  
                   “It’s gonna feel so good, baby, I promise; so good,” he mumbled, repeating the words over and over, slowly moving his finger around in Louis.

With his finger still inside, Harry stroked Louis’ skin around it with his thumb, earning the reaction he had been waiting for, from him, finally. Louis gasped a little, voice high and cut off and his mouth opened wide in surprise. A moment later he moaned, as Harry pulled his finger out and slowly slid it back in, pouring excess lube around it with his free hand, the cool liquid perfectly spiky against Louis’ hot skin.

For another minute Harry continued with a single digit, until he felt Louis’ body was soft and relaxed enough beneath him to press in with two. When he did, Louis’ half-lidded eyes opened wide again, mouth turning into an o-shape. He whimpered at the intrusion, unsure himself, too, whether it was from pleasure or pain.

Straightforwardly, the feeling was certainly an uncomfortable one, but the more he let it be, the longer he let Harry go with himself completely slack in his arms, the better it began to feel, until a little bit in, he could not help but moan, clawing at Harry’s skin again.

It was then that Harry found a spot in him that sent shivers running up and down his back, toes curling. Immediately, Harry knew he had succeeded, and with a complacent grin began to attend to the spot, until the barrier Louis’ subconscious had still weakly been holding up crumbled and he became completely soft, slack, and lax.

Only then did Harry allow himself to press in with a third finger, stretching him slowly, stroking his body from the inside, Louis gasping and moaning underneath him, any concern gone, replaced with utmost pleasure. Harry had pulled away from him a little while ago, to look at his body move under his touch, to see him spasm and drown in the pleasure, released of any earthly worries.

Louis’ eyes opened some time later, bright, suddenly, staring up at Harry. He licked his lips, eyes closing back up for a second, lips parting in a moan when Harry touched him just right, before inhaling deeply and raising one hand.  He wrapped it around Harry’s neck slowly, and began to gently pull him down, movements lethargic.

Harry went readily, biting into Louis’ lips forthwith, as soon as he reached them. The angle of how their bodies connected changed and Louis cried out again, Harry’s fingers causing another shiver to run up his spine.

At the back of his mind, for quite a while now, actually, had been the thought of getting on with it; of getting to the real thing. Collecting himself, Louis pulled lightly on the hairs at the back of Harry’s neck, to get him to raise his head, and when he did, opened his mouth – to speak, for a change.

                   “Harry,” he breathed, gathering his wits, “D’you think we could... Get on with it?”  
Harry swallowed, before bringing his lips between his teeth, humming in thought. His hand relaxed, the strain in his muscles from the constant moving appearing suddenly, making Harry frown, and carefully he slid his fingers from Louis.  
                  “You sure you’re ready? And you still wanna?” Harry asked, wiping his wet fingers on the bed sheets. Louis shrugged, biting his cheek thoughtfully  
                  “You won’t let it hurt, will you?” he asked in a small voice, the anticipation subduing once again, unfortunately.  
                  “Of course, babe,” Harry jumped in right away, leaning close and stroking his cheek with one hand, kissing him on the nose – such an innocent gesture in the context. “I couldn’t live with it if I hurt you.”

Louis giggled, another fleeting thought of ‘we met hours ago’ passing through his head. He let Harry suck it from his head through his lips a moment later.

                   “Let’s do it, then,” he mumbled against Harry’s mouth, squeezing his arms lightly. Harry pushed himself up, licking his lips and raising his eyebrows momentarily at Louis, making the boy laugh. He stopped, though, when Harry reached for the lube and the condom again, ripping open the packet of the condom.  
                   “Wanna put it on for me?” he asked, voice husky, inviting. Warily, Louis sat up, taking the rolled up condom from Harry with shaky hands.

Harry took hold of himself and slowly showed Louis how to do it, sitting back then and letting the boy fumble, too endeared and wanton to lend him a hand. Louis managed without a hitch, though, licking his lips at the sight, if slightly disheartening, in front of him. Harry grinned at his expression, reaching out to grab him by the back of his head for a kiss, while he worked the cap of the bottle of lube off with one hand and covered himself with it, moaning into Louis’ mouth at the cold sensation.

He pushed Louis back down on his back a moment later, this time lifting not one, but both of his legs over his shoulders, making sure the position was fine with Louis. He nodded, right away, too caught up in Harry’s kiss and touch to form words, and embraced himself for what was to come.

Before pushing into Louis, Harry allowed himself another touch, rubbing his fingers over him, feeling Louis’ body flutter, craving something more.  
                   “So needy for me, so good,” he breathed into Louis’ jaw that he had been kissing. Louis sighed at the praise, nails clawing into Harry’s back.  
                   “Ready?” Harry asked, grasping and positioning himself, making sure not to touch prematurely. A moment passed between them in silence, both Harry and Louis almost holding their breaths, shaking with apprehension. Then, Louis’ cramped fingers, along with the rest of his body, relaxed against Harry, and he breathed in and out slowly, opening his eyes.  
                   “Go for it,” he breathed.  
And Harry did.

The first touch made Louis gasp, the feeling against his skin so different from Harry’s fingers, but he managed to force himself to repose once more, so slowly, at a calm, absolutely sluggish pace, Harry could push in further.

Harry had been kissing at his jaw and neck, licking over the marks he left and the ones he had left before, too, – Louis’ neck had become a mess of red over the past hours – but when he felt Louis’ body clamp down around him, he lifted his head, stroking a hand down Louis’ face, brushing hair out of it.

                   “Babe?” he asked, tone concerned. “Want me to stop?”  
Louis swallowed shaking his head, “N-no, just, slowly,” he whimpered, Harry stretching him more painful than pleasurable; but he knew it would feel good soon, it would have to. Harry kissed him and rubbed a hand over his nipples, effectively calming him and loosening up his body in order for him to go on.

                   “Just a bit more,” he breathed against his lips a few seconds later, his own mind already on what he would be doing in a few minutes, desperately holding back from pulling out and rocking back in harshly, to earn some pleasure from it finally to himself. Louis nodded, desperately keeping himself lax for Harry, trying to keep his breathing calm.

Finally, Harry was fully inside Louis, their bodies flush together, connected. When Louis realised this, his eyes opened wide, as did his mouth, at the realisation they were was close as two people could physically ever be.

               “Harry,” he breathed, eyes brimming with tears. Harry was about to wipe them away, fearing they were of pain, but when he reached out Louis shook his head, smiling. “No, no- They’re good, I’m good. Fuck,” he whispered, biting his lip before pulling at Harry again, bringing him down for a kiss. Against his lips he mumbled something, something he was not sure if he said or thought, but Harry replied, just as incoherently, and it was fine. Everything was fine, between them, at that moment, and barely a second later Louis gave Harry the yes to begin to move slowly.

The first pull outward hurt, possibly more than the very first one, but Louis did not mind, as Harry stroked his body the whole time, kissing him and whispering in his ear and against his skin meaningless, but at the same time the most wonderful things he had ever heard.

Time passed, and Louis began to feel good. His body gave up its restraints and allowed him to make himself comfortable, enveloped around Harry while simultaneously in his arms. When the first moan slipped from his lips, Harry’s effort finally paying off, he instantly leaned into Louis’ lips, drinking the sounds from him, collecting his reward.  
                   “Just like that,” he breathed, eyes closed, listening to Louis’ breathing, “Wanna hear you.”

Louis moaned again, purposefully, but unintentionally, Harry’s movements combined with his words drenching his body in delicious, spark-like feeling sensations.  
Harry wondered if Louis could have said what the date was, at that moment, or even what year it was, possibly, but the realisation only served to spur him on, driving into Louis’ detached-from-mind body with more fervour, feeling the stems of his own pleasure sprout within him.

The sudden change in speed had Louis gasping for air, throwing his head back on the pillow so his shoulders rose, just enough for Harry to sneak his hands beneath them, keeping him up  at this obscene, wonderful looking angle. Again, the position of how their bodies connected changed, and Louis cried out, even louder than before.

His hands flew out to Harry’s body, clamping down on his sweaty shoulders, pulling him down with unforeseen strength. Harry went, excited for the promise of lips to kiss, but his face was turned away instead, Louis’ mouth near his ear. 

                   “Yes, yes, yes, oh, yes!”  Louis voice reached him, and he came to the conclusion that was much better than kissing. He felt, too, with his body, that he had found the spot inside Louis to drive him crazy, and eventually help reach his climax, with.

                   “Harry!” Louis exclaimed, nails digging into Harry’s skin, when he started to aim his thrusts carefully, brushing directly past the most sensitive parts of Louis’ body. Unbeknownst to him, Harry had been waiting to hear his own name since this had begun, and now that he had got it, nothing could hold him back any longer.

Confident in his ability to keep Louis pleasured, instead of in pain, Harry pushed himself up on his palms, body very far, suddenly, from Louis, as compared to how they had been so far. But the distance allowed him to adjust Louis’ legs over his shoulder, holding onto one of his ankles, leaning on the other one, and drive into him faster, harder, and better than before.  
As a bonus, it allowed him to look at Louis properly, to look at the rest of his body, too, not just his face.

He was sweating, skin glinting and golden in the lamplight, tight around his body. His face kept switching between straining, pulled up tight in a grimace, and relaxing and falling apart, eyelids shaking and lips parting.

Harry was positive he had never seen anything like it before, nothing he could think of compared to the angelic, ethereal view in front of him. Had his phone been any nearer, he might have taken a picture of it, for future pleasure, but realised his iPhone camera would have done little to no justice to the image before his eyes; in fact, not even Michelangelo could have painted something as exquisite, Harry was sure of that.

In another minute, Louis’ face changed again, and his hand began to move from beside his head down his body, over his right nipple lightly, pulling a whimper from him, and to his groin, where his fingers wrapped around himself and senselessly, subconsciously began stroking himself, close to his orgasm.

Harry let him be for a second, chuckling at the view, of how no matter how unearthly, Louis’ instincts shone through at some point and forced him to break Harry’s illusion. Then, unable, and uncaring to hold himself back, Harry reached out and gently lifted away Louis’ hand, replacing it with his own.

Louis’ eyes opened at the touch, his view so hazy, so utterly gone Harry had to hold back from climaxing himself right then and there. His lips were moving, but Harry could not hear anything from him, if only quiet, inarticulate whimpers.

He leaned close to him, making sure to keep hitting his body at the right angle, and Louis’ whispers began to make sense. Louis was repeating his name, like a mantra, over and over again, his whole body shivering under Harry’s touch.  
                   “Harry, Harry oh- Oh, Harry.”

Harry swallowed, gritting his teeth, forcing himself not to come yet, having promised himself Louis would be first. Dragging himself up with strain, Harry planted his feet on the mattress so he would not have to hold himself up. One hand still touching Louis, Harry let his other fall to Louis’ chest, where he could rub his nipples, the distance from the tip of his pinky to the tip of his thumb long enough to reach both with one hand.

Louis cried out Harry’s name again, then, eyes opening wide, and with stars shooting in his peripheral vision, came. His orgasm raced through his body at the speed of light, from the tips of his toes to the top of his head and back again, for a long, long time after the physical, obvious effects of the climax stopped.

For another minute or so, he could feel Harry still inside of him, an uncomfortable feeling, but not enough to stop it with his sedated body. Then, he was empty, Harry had pulled out, his body spasming around thin air, and before he knew it, he felt liquid, thick ropes of it, shooting onto his thighs, and he knew Harry had finished, too.

He almost let himself fall on top of Louis, but seeing through his overcast vision the boy, seconds from blacking out, Harry managed to strain himself one last time, enough to fall next to Louis, instead of on him.

Louis turned his head languidly, eyes peering out behind their lids, chest rising and falling so remarkably it could have been used to lift objects. He wondered if Harry could hear his heart thumping. Harry could not, of course, but could very well hear his own, along with a white noise that must have belonged to the blood rushing in his veins.

They closed their eyes at the same moment, desperate to touch, to reach out and hold each other, on the inside, but having to concentrate on either’s own breathing for some time before they could do that.

Minutes passed in silence, except for their breathing and, suddenly it reached their auditories, the music still playing in the speakers. Right away they realised the playlist Harry had put together in a hurry had just began again, probably for the third, if not the fourth time, and the song that was playing was the one they had listened to when they had first reached the flat, the one Harry had sung to Louis, missing the lyrics on purpose.

As if on cue, the lines came again, and finding his voice, Harry sang them to Louis, voice hoarse. At the same time, he opened his eyes and reached out to Louis, singing the lyrics he had skipped the first time around, too.

               “Just Louis, and his lover, so entwined,” he murmured the words into Louis hair, when he as if slipped into Harry’s arms, fitting against him so naturally. He giggled at Harry’s singing weakly, throwing – more so, letting fall – one of his legs over Harry’s, his head rested on his chest.

They lay in utter silence, waiting for one song to end and another begin, over and over again. Against his ear, Louis felt Harry’s heartbeat slowly calm, until it reached its normal slow tempo, lulling Louis into an easy, relaxing sleep.

It took Harry longer, as he could not stop his fingers dancing across Louis’ side, stroking and gently pinching his soft, damp skin. When he felt Louis stir next to him, a shiver running through him from cold, he lifted his head to find the discarded blanket. The corner of it was underneath them, he realised, and arduously, with a single hand, he pulled it up to them and threw it over himself and Louis, who immediately relaxed again and slept on. In a few minutes, under the new warmth, Harry fell asleep, too.

When they woke, a couple hours later, it happened almost in sync, Harry opening his eyes to Louis trying to push himself up from Harry’s heavy hold.  
                   “Can you like, not be so heavy,” Louis whined, noticing Harry’s sly grin. Harry chuckled and lifted his arms, licking his lips and over his teeth, the taste in his mouth horrible, to say the least.

Arduously, Louis pulled himself up, stretching his shoulders and neck and groaning. Trying to move his legs, he felt he could not, or rather, something had stuck between his thighs and lightly glued them together. He pulled them apart and a second later, groaned in disgusting. Harry had got up too, and saw what Louis was making face at, immediately laughing.

                   “Sorry about that,” he giggled, getting up on his knees and making his way to the cupboard near the mattress. On it lay a box of Kleenex, which he pulled with himself and tossed to Louis. Louis took the box, sighing, and began to rub the substance off his skin, but to nearly no avail.

                   “You do realise it’s dried,” he nagged, picking the white sticky streaks with his fingernails. Harry only shrugged, apologising with is expression, and with a hand on the corner of the dresser, pulled himself into standing.

He lost his balance for a second and knocked himself painfully on the same corner, jumping away from it suddenly, grabbing his thigh. Louis watched him, unable not to laugh, and went back to his thighs as Harry’s pain alleviated and he limped to the kitchenette, sucking air in through his teeth every few steps.

Almost there, he sighed and stopped again, jogging to the mattress and digging around until he found his pants. In another situation, he would not have minded streaking around in his birthday suit, but funnily enough – they had just had sex  - he was not sure if Louis would have been bothered, so he pulled the pants on, and finding Louis’ next to his, tossed them to him.  
They fell on Louis’ head, who shrieked, startled, but chuckled instead when he realised what they were, and after getting up, stretching his back again, pulled them on too. Cracking his toes on the floor, Louis stepped to the kitchen, where Harry already was, flushing down the horrible taste in his mouth with half-open, decarbonised cider. When Louis arrived, he wordlessly handed him the other bottle, and he drank from it with big gulps.

                   “So,” Louis spoke, the bottom of the glass bottle clanging quietly on the kitchen island when he set it down.  
Harry eyed him, before turning around and opening a cabinet, dropping his empty bottle into a plastic bag for those.  
                   “Dunno,” he replied after a moment. Louis breathed out a laugh.  
                   “What time is it?” he asked, turning to the window, but failing in deducing anything from there, as he could see nothing through the heavy blinds.  
                   “Dunno,” Harry repeated.  
A part of Louis wanted to find his phone and check, but another part of him, fixed on the look Harry given him while he responded, kept him back, wishing not to break their timeless idyll.  
                   “D’you wanna go and guess?” Harry asked suddenly. Louis frowned at him, confused by the request, but a moment later nodded, smiling when he realised he did not care where he followed Harry.

Turned out, it was only to the other room of the flat, one that Louis had not even realised was there. It was a bedroom, with a large double bed neatly done up in the middle, beddings a deep, cherry red even in the dim light – Harry did not turn on the ceiling lamp.  
                   “Harry, I-” Louis began, obviously confused as to why they had slept on that excuse of a bed in the living room, while that hid itself behind the door.  
                   “That’s the only rule,” Harry interrupted, obviously catching Louis’ drift, “The only rule Josh’s dad has for us staying here when he’s not. We can’t sleep here, in his bed. I don’t know why, we said we could change the sheets or summat. He’s strict about it, always makes sure it’s done up exactly the same way.”

Louis sighed, rolling his eyes at the man he could imagine even better now – someone middle aged, probably overweight, and so god damn rich and full of himself. Still, he must have been better than some of them, since he supported his son’s love for music and as an extension, his bandmates, too.

Harry walked past the bed, to where another huge window was, covering the whole wall. He pulled aside the curtains on one side, heavy, dark ones, the same as those in the livingroom, and through it began to shine a faint, weak light. He pulled the curtain aside some more, until he reached the handle of the door leading to the balcony, and pulled it, opening the door.  
Chilly wind hit him right away, and he spluttered, shivering. He managed to ignore the cold, though, as he stepped onto the wooden flooring of the balcony, holding the door open for Louis. Louis was shivering, when he stepped outside, but managed to calm his body, too, in a few moments, rubbing his arms roughly.

The sky was a dark, but soft blue, the tone of the very early morning. It was too early in the year for birds to be chirping at this time, but the wind gushing in the soft, bright green baby leaves and the distant hubbub from the city centre almost created the feeling of summer – had it only been a little lighter, and well, quite a lot warmer. Still, it made Louis realise just how quickly the winter had ended and spring began. More so, when a certain pair of arms wrapped around him, Harry’s head plopping down on his shoulder, it made him realise just how fast the last twenty four hours had passed, and how much they had changed everything.

They stood in silence until Louis felt Harry begin to shiver against his back. Then, giggling, he turned around and wrapped his own arms around him, rubbing his cold back until it warmed under his touch.  
                   “Cold?” he asked. Harry scoffed.  
                   “Whaddaya think?”  
Louis giggled, his face pressed against Harry’s chest, and let go of him.  
                   “Let’s get something on, then,” he said, walking through the door and pushing it open, stepping inside.

Harry followed him, reaching out for his hand and lightly wrapping three of his fingers around Louis’, letting himself be lead to where their clothes waited, scattered around the mattress. One by one, they picked them and clothed themselves, movements unhurried, laughing at each other when they plopped down to pull their socks on, or when Louis would not stop fussing with his hair and Harry could barely get his jeans on.

They agreed on having breakfast, if it could have been called that in that hour, on the balcony. There was a small table with a single chair there, and Harry suggested taking another one, so both of them would have a place to sit, but Louis shrugged and squeezed past him in the kitchenette instead, to get to the fridge. Crouching down, he opened the door, ready to rummage through it, only to be met with vast emptiness.

                   “Do we even have anything to eat?” he asked, frowning at his view. Harry peered into it, chuckling, and turned back to the tray in front of him.  
                   “I already took the stuff out,” he replied to Louis, pulling himself up to see what Harry had to offer. Some bread, the last of his salad, ham and butter.

Louis grimaced, shutting the door of the refrigerator with a pang, before turning to the overhead cupboards. The first two opened to plates and cutlery and the third to flour, sugar and other solids. At the fourth one, thought, Louis called out, pulling the bottle he found from the shelf and letting the door fall shut while he examined his finding.

Harry watched him wordlessly, one eyebrow raised, until Louis lifted his face, shaking the bottle under Harry’s nose.  
                   “Why didn’t ya say there’s wine!” he exclaimed, eyes wide. Harry chuckled.  
                   “’Cause it’s horrible, that’s why.”  
Louis had just set the bottle on the counter, ready to find an opener, but held it to his face again now, reading the label.

                   “Looks alright to me,” he said, shrugging. Harry said nothing to that, already out from between the kitchen cupboards and the island, on his way to the balcony.  
Louis wondered momentarily about the chair he should have taken with him, but instead spent some time finding a corkscrew and made his way to the balcony then, uncaring.

Harry had sat down and was spreading butter onto a piece of undone toast, back hunched over. Louis let the bottle slip from between his fingers a few centimetres above the table and it landed with a thump, causing Harry to look up. His back straightened and Louis used his new position to his advantage, moving his hands out of the way and plopping on his lap.

                   “Well, if that’s how it’s gonna be,” Harry laughed, bobbing his knees so Louis bounced in his lap. He made himself quite comfortable, ignoring Harry’s movements, and with a bit of fumbling managed to uncork the bottle. He realised then he had forgotten about a glass and shrugging, took a sip straight from the bottle.

He turned to his side in Harry’s lap, so he could see him, and found him smiling at him, face nearing laughter, jaw moving slowly as he chewed on his mouthful – nearly half of the small loaf of bread.

The wine was horrible, Harry had been right. Still, Louis made a show of drinking it without letting his face skew up, only blinking exasperatedly when the pungent, bitter taste really hit.  
                   “Where did you get that from?” he asked, setting the bottle on the table with a grimace. Harry shrugged, “Ask Josh.”

Louis rolled his eyes before reaching out, snatching what was left of the sandwich from Harry’s hands. He shoved the little bit in his mouth and ate it, it’s bland taste mixing with the bitter flavour of the wine. Harry had yet to tear his eyes from Louis, but neither of them minded, Louis happy with being the centre of attention and Harry happy with giving him that attention.

He dabbled at the salad for a bit, but it was soggy and tasteless by now, so he set it aside and made another sandwich. Two actually, so Louis would not have to steal from him again.  
They ate in silence, for a while, Louis washing the food down with the wine, throat numbing to its taste quickly. He wondered if he should have regretted it, but he wanted to get drunk, despite the time. He wanted to get drunk and do something stupid.

Before he realised to stop himself, he said that out loud, and Harry laughed, throwing his head back and closing his mouth unexpectedly when the food threatened to come out. Louis laughed then, too, before knocking back some more of the wine.

He was about to leave it be for a little while again, when Harry’s hand appeared out of nowhere – his other had completely naturally wrapped around Louis’ waist – and took the bottle from him. Looking him in the eyes, he wrapped his lips around the neck and began jugging, downing at least a third of the bottle. Louis stared, wide-eyed, the whole time, licking his lips when took the bottle from his mouth and wiped it with the back of his hand, nearly hitting Louis around the head with the bottom of the bottle.

With a smirk, he handed it to Louis, who took it, and examined how much Harry had drunk.  
                   “Let’s get drunk together, then,” he chuckled, squeezing Louis’ hip under his hand. Louis closed his eyes for a second, for no apparent reason, inhaling deeply. He brought the bottle to his lips, eyes still closed, and took a long, big sip, missing his mouth a little so the liquid ran down his chin, dripping onto his shirt. Giggling, he looked down at himself, feeling the dampness against his skin.

Turning back to the bottle he saw little less than half of the wine remained, and he knew together, Harry and him could not get nearly as drunk from it as he would have liked.  
                   “D’you have anything else?” he asked, then, beckoning to the bottle with his head. Harry shook his head, pursing his lips.  
                   “Weed,” he said a moment later. Louis shook his head, and Harry nodded, understanding.  
                   “You can‘ve the rest of it, though,” Harry said then, tapping the bottom of the bottle with his index lightly, while Louis brought it to his lips.

He wrapped them around the neck slowly, eyeing Harry intently, and swallowed, the liquid running down his insides almost audible to Harry, too. Harry swallowed thickly, blinking when he felt his pants taking an interest in Louis sucking on the bottleneck, but ignored that thought, instead turning his eyes from Louis to the view in front of them.

In front of them, they could see a fair portion of the city of Paris, but nothing movie-like – not the Eiffel Tower with the sun rising behind it and crows ascending towards the clouds from the roof of the Notre Dame or the Sacre-Coeur. Simply houses, skyscrapers like the one they were staying at, with flats, and small single-family dwellings with gardens around the houses. Between the buildings wound streets, empty mostly of cars at this hour, but probably busy and overflowing with life in only some time.

Harry had seen this view before, stared at it, actually, for hours, both while sober and under influence, but to Louis, the sight was unseen. Leaving the wine be for a bit, he turned his eyes in the same direction as Harry, and took it in, trying to memorise everything in the few moments he had to spare. Even if the view was clearly not remarkable, it was so to Louis, because it was a glimpse, a literal look into Harry’s life, and while he consciously pushed the thought away, he still could not have known how long it would be part of his life, too, so he desperately wanted to keep everything he could, for as long as he could.

Having got enough of the grey, overcast sky and hushed song of the tree leaves, he closed his eyes, inhaling.  
                   “Harry,” he spoke then, turning to him with his eyes still closed. Gently, Harry lifted a hand and a moment later Louis felt fingers against his cheek.  
                   “Yeah?” Harry asked. Louis opened his eyes slowly, a smile growing on his face, and fell forward, Harry’s arms wrapping around his hurriedly, their lips catching, pulling together like magnets with differing charges.

Bodies pressed together, they kissed, and the chill that should have reached them by now was pushed away by their nearly fused bodies, Harry’s arms under Louis’ shirt, fingertips pressing into skin hard enough to leave bruises, Louis’ hands pulling on Harry’s hair so hard he would have cried out in pain, had he been in any position to notice.

Soon, their movements grew heated, Louis’ lower body moving as if on its own accord against Harry, both of them moaning in pleasure every once in a while, until Louis laboriously pulled his face from Harry’s and opened his lips to speak, unlike before, when his lips had only parted for Harry’s to wrap around them.

                  “Do you,” -he panted, licking his raw red lips- “Do you wanna have sex again?” he finished, blunt. Harry smirked up at him, nostrils flaring with the sharp exhale.  
                  “Course.”

Louis bent down less than a second later to kiss him again, but when Harry swallowed and Louis could feel the movement against himself, he was reminded of the encounter only minutes ago; the look on Harry’s face, the way his Adam’s apple had bobbed with his swallow, when Louis’ lips had been wrapped around the neck of the bottle. In a moment, the plan had formed itself in his head.

                   “You know what?” he spoke, lips still against Harry’s, but disentangled enough to talk. “I wanna blow you.”  
Harry pulled away two or so seconds later, eyes wide with shock.  
                   “You-”  
                   “No protesting. We don’t need to waste all that time we already wasted the time before. All I need from you is assurance you’ll guide me, since, you know, I haven’t done that before.”  
Harry frowned, but Louis kissed him, to shut him up, and a moment later he had given up, overwhelmed by the thought of Louis on his knees in front of him.

Suddenly, he felt Louis slipping from his lap and to the ground, and just like that Louis was kneeling, face centimetres from his crotch, biting his lip and looking up at him. Harry revelled in the view for a moment, running his thumb over Louis’ cheek, but with his warm body so suddenly gone from so close to him, Harry, and Louis too, felt the shivers of the cold air return beneath their skin.

Chuckling, then, Harry held out a hand to Louis.  
                   “This would be really, really nice, but then again you might accidentally chop my cock off with your teeth clattering so let’s get inside, yeah?” he said, and laughing at his words, Louis let himself be pulled up.  
                   “What a mood-kill the weather is,” he laughed as they toppled through the off limits bedroom to the living room, the food they had left on the table on the balcony completely forgot.

Heavily, Harry fell onto the mattress, undoing his flies with nimble fingers and ripping off his pants so harshly they almost slit. Louis watched him the whole time, licking his lips when Harry’s flesh finally appeared underneath the grey material, and pounced on him when the moment was right, just as Harry was discarding the jeans next to the mattress, sitting up on his elbow for the moment.

They kissed, Louis’ hand trailing down Harry’s unfortunately still shirt-clad chest to his pants, slipping past the waistband with little time wasted, fingers wrapping around him, working him to full hardness. Harry groaned when Louis’ fingers, cold, touched him, and let his head fall back, sucking in a breath when Louis pushed himself away, crawling down his body. With one hand, he managed to bunch up the boxers enough to get them out of the way, Harry’s cock suddenly very, very close to his face; exactly as Louis wanted it.

Unsure how to proceed, he looked up at Harry, and unbeknownst to him, bit his lip in the most sexual, erotic way Harry could have dreamed of. Only from the sight – Louis’ wet pink bottom lip between his teeth, eyes wide, and small fingers wrapped around him – Harry moaned again, before realising Louis was only looking at him to get some kind of instructions.

He smiled, then, a lot differently, and wrapping his own fingers around Louis’, guided the tip of himself to Louis’ mouth.  
                   “Just go slow, yeah. Do what you think might feel good, it probably will and I’ll say if it doesn’t,” he said, nodding slowly when Louis parted his lips to kiss the tip of his cock, pushing away the foreskin with a smooth touch.

When his lips finally reached their destination and Louis’ lips touched Harry’s cock, Harry could not help but shout, abs tightening as he nearly growled. Spewed on by his obvious pleasure, Louis began to kiss it slowly, moulding his lips the same way he had against Harry’s mouth. The tip of the penis felt nothing like he had imagined, or nothing like his own did under his fingers, though, but free of his initial fears, Louis realised he enjoyed it, and only a minute or so later he opened his mouth to get more of Harry in him.

Harry let him go at his own pace, only tangling his fingers in Louis’ hair to steady him, to make sure he understood Harry was there to guide him if it became necessary, never to push him down further. There was no need for that, anyway, as Louis began to bob his head earnestly only moments later; his movements could have been described as making out with the cock.  
He would go down as far as he could, sucking on Harry as hard as his throat allowed, before pulling off again to tongue at the slit at the tip, making sure to eye Harry and moan at the bitter, yet not unpleasant tasting precum that he collected with his tongue and lips. Soon, Harry began to wonder if Louis really had not done this before, but rationally, he realised part of how good he felt must have come from the deep, crushing lust he had for the boy.

Louis, though, seemed to really be enjoying what he was doing, and he was, he really was. A few minutes since the first touch of his lips to Harry, he realised he was hard, almost achingly so in the confinements of his underwear. Unable to ignore it now that he had realised it, he slid his free hand, which had been balancing him on Harry’s thigh, down his own stomach, reaching into his underwear and grabbing himself, stroking in time with the bobs and sucks on his head and mouth.

Harry noticed that, as soon Louis’ movements grew sloppier, concentration dispelling with his own pleasure added to the mix. He lifted his head and a moment later his upper body, propping himself on his elbows, mesmerised by the view of Louis’ lips stretched around his cock, one hand working himself.

But with how good he was making Harry feel, he decided Louis deserved more than just his own hand on himself. Smirking, he figured out just what to do to give him not just a wonderful orgasm, but a staggering one.

                   “Babe,” he said, voice low and hoarse from the constant moaning. Louis lifted his eyes, lips wrapped around the tip of his cock, asking a question with his eyebrows. Harry motioned for him to pull off, and hesitantly, Louis did.

                   “Take your pants off,” Harry instructed next, Louis following the orders a moment later, movements fast, but eyes still inquiring. With a quiet, wet slap Louis’ dick bounced against his stomach and he blushed, giggling at the sound. Harry laughed, too, and reached out to touch his cheek but missed and ended up rubbing his lips.

                   “Turn around, now,” he went on. Louis frowned, unsure what Harry meant, but he finished his idea a moment later.  
                   “Put your big bum in my face, that’s what I want.”

Louis gawked at him, fishmouthing for a second, but Harry only smirked, letting him know he would not budge until he did as he said, and something in it made Louis feel that much hotter in the otherwise chilly room, that he could not help but turn, knees on either side of Harry’s chest in a way that had he let any weight onto Harry, he would have been sitting on his face.

Wordlessly, Harry pressed a kiss to the inside of Louis’ thigh, and immediately he knew two things: what Harry had in store for him – the thought freaked him out, but his trust for Harry had grown so large he wiped away the fear, and that it was time to go back to Harry’s cock, centimetres from his face once again.

Harry let him get back into it, get lost in him in Louis’ mouth, before he went on, abiding to rubbing his thighs and bum, and enjoying the view, amazed, really, by the smooth, soft thing under his hands. Then, just as Louis was getting sloppy again, saliva slipping from his mouth and running down Harry’s cock obscenely, Harry leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Louis’ bum, a little way off from his hole.

Louis pulled his mouth from around Harry, then, a thin whine escaping his lips, and another one a moment later, when Harry repeated the action on the corresponding spot on the other cheek. Weakly, Louis began to tongue at Harry’s tip, determined to make him come before he let Harry take his senses from him, but unable to stop the pleasure already flooding into his body.

Harry kept his touches light and his kisses feather-light, though, so Louis could slowly, carefully go back to sucking him down. Just as Louis lost his guard, of course, Harry pressed another kiss to him, this time just above his target. Louis cried out, feeling Harry’s bottom lip catch on his hole, realising for the first time just how sensitive he really was, but forced himself to gather his wits, then, again, and to go back to Harry’s cock.

When the same happened the third time, Louis was done with Harry’s teasing. He sat up, purposely so his body covered Harry’s face, and looking him in the eyes, which barely peered from under his bum.

                   “Do you want to come or what?” he asked, voice annoyed. He felt Harry smile against his hole and had to cramp his hands into tight fists to keep from grinding against his lips and tongue.  
                   “I do,” came a muffled answer a moment later. Louis rolled his eyes.  
                   “Then let me make you, okay?”  
Harry lifted him off of himself a little, concurrently pushing him back down to his cock.  
                   “Go for it.”

And he meant it, for until he had come, he did not budge Louis – not a lot at least – once. He stroked his hands over his cheeks softly, only, loving the view in front of him, and kept his head thrown back most of the time, letting Louis go at it to his judgements.

Concentrating, Louis wrapped his lips around the head, sucking lightly and running his tongue over Harry, before going down slowly as far as he could, swallowing around him when he could. The groans that reached his ears, and every once in a while fingernails pushing into the skin of his thighs, were enough to encourage him to go a bit deeper every time.

He had been sucking on his tip for a while, working the slit with the tip of his tongue and moving the foreskin when he could, when Harry’s hips suddenly bucked up, his cock hitting the top of Louis’ mouth. Louis spluttered, eyes filling with water at the sudden intrusion and pulled off. Immediately, Harry pushed himself up as much as he could, face worried when their eyes met.

               “Oh my god, Lou, babe, fuck I’m so sorry,” Harry stuttered, reaching out his hand. It took a moment for Louis to calm his breathing, but he chuckled then, wiping the saliva from the corners of his mouth and the tears from his eyes.  
                “It’s alright,” he mustered, clearing his throat, “Try not to do it again though.”  
Harry’s face softened and he squeezed Louis’ forearm, lying down again.  
               “Promise,” he mumbled, the final syllable diminishing into a moan when Louis’ lips wrapped around him again. “Doing so well, though, fuck- So good for me.”

Louis was spurred on by Harry’s words straightaway, and his determination to make him come as quick as possible grew, especially when Harry’s hands found their way back to his cheeks and his lips pressed against one – he was frightened of it, in a way, but all the more excited for what he knew was about to come when Harry finished.

He began toying with his balls with one hand, taking Harry down as far as he could so he would not need to buck up again, and moaned around him, internally thanking Harry for being such a health nut – he could not have called it tasty, but he had been prepared for much worse. Soon, Harry’s lips against his skin began to waver, his moans growing more frequent, and Louis knew he must have been close.

                   “Lou, I’m gonna-” he began, and Louis had just enough time to pull his mouth off and a little way away from Harry before he came, shooting his seed on his own stomach and thighs, but mostly on Louis’ face.

Louis giggled, keeping one hand on Harry to work him through his orgasm, but lifted the one on his balls to wipe the sperm from his face, cringing at the sour smell. Thanks to the movement, though, he had to lean more weight on his lower body and in doing so, pretty much sat on Harry’s face, startling him, but not unpleasantly.

On the contrary, Harry chuckled against the sudden avalanche of soft skin, lifting him to take a breath.  
               “Patience, patience,” he laughed, pushing Louis away from him – only for the moment, though. Louis laughed, too, and was about to lift his leg to climb off of Harry, but when he tried to do so, Harry immediately smacked him, making him yelp.  
               “Louis,” he said, frowning, “being patient doesn’t mean you’re going anywhere until you’ve come, too.”

Stammering a breath, Louis turned to Harry, smirking at him like a devil, as if he had not just orgasmed a few seconds ago. The moment dragged on with their eyes locked together tight, traces of come still stuck on Louis’ face, his hands balanced on Harry’s thighs, both of Harry’s large hands curving perfectly around Louis’ bum, until Harry, eyes still intent on Louis, leaned close to Louis’ body in front of him, and slowly, murderously so, dragged his bottom lip over Louis’ hole.

Louis gasped, eyes nearly shooting out their sockets, the pleasure that so suddenly coursed through his body overwhelming, forcing him to fall forward while simultaneously pushing his bum against Harry’s face.

Happy with the reaction, Harry repeated his motion, earning another shuddering whine from Louis. He kept going for a while, keeping the touch slow, but firm enough to have Louis’ breath hitched the whole time, his body shaking every once in a while.

Minutes passed in bare silence, Harry’s lips on Louis dry enough still to keep from making noise, and Louis cramped against Harry’s thighs tightly, the only sound his heavy breathing and a rare whimper. Then, Harry gave Louis’ arse a harsh, long squeeze, and anxious to get Louis boneless and soft on top of him, stuck out his tongue, piercing Louis’ hole with it slightly, but not going in.

Louis cried out, his head rising and falling back again heavily, temple knocking on thigh, nails scratching Harry’s skin. Harry smirked against his hole, Louis’ reaction just what he had been planning, and opened his mouth to press wet, sloppy kisses on his rim. The sudden warm wetness was what finally disentangled Louis’ vocal chords, and a moment later he began moaning vocally, his voice ringing through the room.

Harry only smiled against his skin, rubbing his tongue up and down in quick motions, absolutely revelling in the way he could feel Louis losing all control, collapsing more and more often when he tried to push himself up, until he stopped trying at all, laying on his stomach quietly, panting.

Unable to hold back, his hand soon slipped to his cock, even though he guessed Harry would mind. He did, as a moment later one of Harry’s hands left Louis’ bum and game to grasp his wrist, squeezing it tightly.

                   “No touching,” he spoke harshly, loudly in the nearly silent room and Louis could not help but whimper at the assertive tone. It only served to make him harder, but with Harry’s grip so tight and voice so strong, he pulled both of his hands tightly underneath his chest the moment Harry let him, going back to his ass.

He pressed a kiss against Louis’ hole to praise him, and after pressing his tongue flat against it one final time, began to push in, much to Louis’ delight. Harry moaned at the first breach, feeling Louis’ muscles relax and tighten around his tongue, feeling his savoury taste and soft walls. He fucking loved eating ass, and he fucking adored eating Louis’ ass.

Louis must have adored Harry eating his ass, too, though, because as soon as Harry had entered him and started fucking him with his tongue, slow and deep, the same way he had with his cock, Louis’ moans started up again – though they never really ceased. He was gripping Harry’s thighs, groaning low in his throat and keening high in his head, thrashing around as much as he could with Harry’s strong hold on him.

Harry would pull his tongue out every once in a while to lick at him from outside, and whenever he did, Louis would subconsciously start to move his body, hips swivelling against Harry’s face, craving for him to be back inside him. Harry loved that, spending more and more time with his tongue out of him, knowing perfectly well how crazy that drove Louis.  
Until, of course, Harry got what he wanted.

                   “P-Please, Harry, fuck,” Louis’ voice suddenly reached his ears, utterly wrecked. Harry groaned, but still kept his tongue on Louis, not in him. Louis whimpered out another plea, his words chopped and voice raw, and a moment later Harry obliged, pressing his tongue in, this time with a strict intent to make Louis come.

Louis moaned when Harry’s tongue entered him, voice loud, ringing around the room. Concentrating on the pleasure he was feeling, he opened his eyes, vision slowly coming to him. In front of his face, he realised, lay Harry’s cock, soft, but still nowhere near small in size, pink at the tip and touchable. With not much thought, Louis extended his hand and wrapped his fingers around it, licking his lips when he felt its heaviness in his hand.

Harry groaned at the touch, sending vibrations through Louis body, still sensitive from his strong orgasm, but did not stop Louis, unable to, when he peered over his back and saw the boy, eyes closed once more, bottom lip between his teeth, fingers around his cock. He was not really stimulating it, anyway, simply holding onto him, as if it helped him to guard himself.

Minutes later, Louis began to feel his orgasm building in his stomach, and he knew he was close, but needed just a little more to be tipped over the edge. So discreetly, thinking Harry would not notice – too lost in the arse in his face – he pressed one hand against his cock, before grasping it and starting to jerk himself slowly, to the pace of the thrusts of Harry’s tongue.

Harry noticed, of course. Barely a second later, his tongue disappeared from Louis, as did his hands.  
               “Louis,” he said, voice solemn. Quickly, Louis pulled his hand away from his cock, but it was too late. “What did I tell you before?” Harry asked, not expecting an answer. “Give me your hand,” he said then, and slowly, Louis slid it behind himself and down his back, where Harry grasped it for a moment, squeezing his delicate wrist, before slapping it down on one of his arsecheeks, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to feel it.

                   “The other one, too,” he said, partially regretting his decision, as Louis’ hand on his cock felt wonderful even if it induced little proper sexual pleasure. Whimpering, Louis slid his other hand down his back, too, and like the other one, Harry lay it on Louis’ respective cheek.

Then, he pulled them apart, revealing Louis’ hole like he had done with his own hands before.  
                   “You’re gonna hold yourself open for me, okay?” Harry said, forming the sentence into a question while leaving no room for arguing. Louis did not mind though, overwhelmed by being so much at Harry’s will, lying on his front with his head his only leverage, Harry’s to use as he pleased.

Harry delved in then, determined to make Louis come quickly, now. He grasped Louis’ wrist with his left hand, making sure the hand stayed where it had to, and stuck two fingers of his right hand in his mouth, wetting them. Then, pulling them out against Louis’ ass, not wasting a drop of spit, he started to rub them against his hole, ready to push them in any moment.

He did so, middle finger first, when Louis moaned and Harry felt his whole body shudder, so close to his orgasm. He worked it in and out a few times alongside his tongue, before pushing in his index, too, so now two fingers and a tongue filled Louis, stretching him wonderfully.  
He had been unable to reach it with his tongue, but with his fingers he could reach Louis’ prostate, and a few thrusts against it, tongue swivelling around the fingers was all it took to make Louis come.

Louis gasped, head and body shooting up, eyes widening in shock, the pleasure coursing through him and making him shudder all over, come shooting out of him, hitting his chest as well as Harry’s thighs. Harry kept touching him, rubbing his prostate and licking over his hole the whole time, until Louis’ hands started to strain under Harry’s hold and he knew Louis was too sensitive.

Slowly, he slid his fingers from inside Louis, drying them on the pillow discarded next to them, and with a final kiss to his hole, let go of his hand.

Louis rolled off of him, careful not to knock him with his knee, and having used his final strength on that, curled in on himself, cold, suddenly, and shaking all over. Harry noticed him, of course, and less than ten seconds later was pulling him into his arms, wrapping him in the duvet – thankfully dry, they had pushed it off the mattress.

Louis stopped feeling cold when Harry’s arms wrapped around him, but he could not stop shaking; both of them knew, though, that the shaking had not been from cold in the first place.  
They sat for a while, Harry petting Louis’ hair and body, kissing his temple and murmuring sweet nothings in his ears, combing through his hair with his fingers. Soon enough, Louis was coming back to himself, blinking hazily, trying to focus his eyes.

Voice groggy, he said quietly, “Can you- Water?”  
Harry frowned for a second, before smiling softly and pressing a kiss to his temple.      
                   “Sure thing,” he murmured, lifting Louis off himself and back on the mattress, wrapped up tightly in the blanket. He pushed himself up, groaning when the joints in his knees cracked, and padded to the kitchen to get some water.

Louis watched him, a soft smile playing on his lips, unable to tear his eyes even when Harry turned back, a glass of water in his hands, staring right back at Louis.

                   “Here you are,” he spoke, handing the cup to Louis. A hand appeared from the mass of blanket and brought it to Louis’ lips, the liquid disappearing fast.

From beside the mattress, Harry, for the second time that day, found his own and Louis’ boxers, pulling his pair on and tossing the other to Louis. He only shook his head though, shrugging and setting the empty glass next to him. He was quite comfortable, actually, in the blanket; if only maybe Harry would have cuddled him again.

                   “D’you wanna come back here?” Louis asked timidly, much to Harry’s joy. Chuckling, he crawled to him and wrapped his arms around him, pulling the blanket from around him and wrapping them both, together, in it again.  
                   “Like this?” he asked, then, to which Louis nodded, resting the side of his head on Harry’s chest.  
                   “Yeah,” he breathed, Harry could feel his warm breath on his heated skin.

They sat in silence for a long while, Harry wondering what had happened to the music that should have kept repeating itself, and figuring out that his phone must have run out of battery. For a moment, he weighed the option of getting up and finding the charger, to put something else on, but when he so much as stirred, Louis’ arms around his body immediately tightened and a whine escaped his lips, and Harry let go of any hopes of getting up.

Instead, they spent the time listening to each other’s breathing and the birds outside, flying past the house every once in a while and screaming their calls. The sky was still overcast, but the sun behind the clouds must have rose by now, for the light coming in from outside was much brighter, washing the room in a grey, lightless light.

                   “This is crazy, when you think about it. Just yesterday I was at home-” Louis began, cutting himself off with a sigh, turning his eyes back to Harry, from where he had lifted it to look out the strip of window behind the curtain. Harry nodded.

                   “It is, you’re right. Like, you’d think- You wouldn’t think this happens, really,” he said a moment later. It was Louis’ turn to nod, then. Silence fell on them again, for a while.  
                   “Can we go back on the balcony?” Louis asked, then.  
Harry chuckled, “Course.”  
Disentangling himself from Harry and the blanket, Louis got up, finally pulling on the boxers Harry had given him. One by one, he found his clothes and was about to pull his t-shirt on, when he suddenly turned to Harry, eyes wide.  
                   “Haz,” he asked, hesitant. Harry nodded for him to go on. “Can I take a shower?”  
Harry thought about it for a second, and shrugging, nodded then.

                   “Yeah, why not,” he said, “Go get in, I’ll find a towel for you in a moment.”  
Louis pursed his lips, blowing a kiss to him. “You are the best!” he hollered, skipping to the shower, energised by the idea of being able to clean the grime from the day before off his body – and to think, isolated from the world by plastic walls, for a while.

In few minutes, after lightening his bladder, he was in the fancy shower, next to which he and Harry had got high just hours before. He turned on the water and after spending a fair amount of time trying to figure out how the buttons scattered around the shower walls worked, washed himself quickly, anxious to get back to Harry.

The thought was strange, but he realised less than two minutes in, that this was the longest time he had been apart from Harry since their meeting. This was the first moment when Harry was not under his eye, when he could not have known for sure just what he was doing. The realisation was bizarre enough to knock him of his breath, and he had to balance himself on the shower wall for a little bit, frowning deeply.

Then, he began to laugh, realising he and Harry really had been, quite literally, attached at the hip for as long as they had known each other.  By the time he had finished scrubbing his body, he had always been very thorough with his showers, and started to rinse his hair of the shampoo, he could not stop smiling, overcome with his feelings for Harry. And partially, or even mostly, overcome with the feeling of unreality that had surrounded every minute of those past twenty-four hours or so.

He finished his shower quickly, and when he had opened the plastic doors, shuddering at the cold air and just about to call for Harry to get him the bloody towel, the door opened and Harry appeared, holding in his hand what looked like possibly the softest, warmest blanket in all of Paris.

                   “Sorry I took so long,” he spoke, pouting, stepping inside the humid room and handing Louis the towel. It felt just like it looked, and smiling at its familiar smell, – Louis could not believe not only the smell of Harry, but the smell of this apartment, too, had already made its way to his heart – wrapped it around himself.

He dried himself off quickly, and pulled on his pants and jeans then. About to pull of his t-shirt, he realised just how sweaty and uncomfortable it would have felt against his freshly clean skin and grimaced, making a small noise at the back of his mouth. Harry’s eyes shot up right away, and realising Louis’ problem, he pulled the shirt from his hands.

                   “Wait here,” he said over his shoulder, opening the bathroom door, “I’ll get you a clean one in a mo.”  
Louis smiled, sitting on the toilet pot, where Harry had just sat, waiting. He appeared a minute later, holding a plain white t-shirt.

                   “I tried to find one you wouldn’t drown in,” he said, holding it out to Louis. A moment later, a cheeky grin appeared on his face, “But then I thought, one, I want you to wear one of mine, definitely, and two, you’d probably look good in one that was huge on you, so...”

Louis had just finished putting on the shirt, and Harry had definitely not tried very hard. He crossed his arms over his chest, glaring and him playfully. It was supposed to be a t-shirt, but the sleeves reached nearly up to his elbows, and when he stood up – mostly to smack Harry – the hem of the shirt was near the middle of his thighs.

Dodging Louis’ hit, Harry laughed, bolting out of the bathroom. Louis ran after him, but Harry had stopped mid-step and Louis ran right into him, face about to break in half with his smile. Harry’s arms wound themselves around him a moment later, his face pressing to the side of his neck.  
                   “I think you look great,” he mumbled, nosing his damp, warm skin. “You also smell great.”  
Louis threw his head back, laughing, and the movement was strong enough to pull Harry off his footing, causing them to wobble back and forth, giggling against each other.  
                   “You smell like you’re mine,” Harry breathed against Louis, words muffled on purpose.

Louis thought he had misheard him at first, but a moment later realised that was what Harry must have said. Startled, he pulled his hands from around Harry and straightaway Harry became terrified of what he had just done.

Then, Louis lifted his hands to Harry’s head to lift his head and bring together their eyes. Seeing Louis’ face, unsure, but filled with nothing but love, Harry’s mind eased.  
                   “Do I?” he asked quietly. Harry brought his lips to Louis’ gently, for a slow, short kiss.  
                   “You do,” he replied against his mouth.  
Minutes passed in silence, the two of them in the middle of the small living room, wrapped around each other tightly, faces together. Then, Louis pulled away, stretching his back and neck.  
                   “I wanna go back on the balcony,” he said, “It was nice there.”  
Harry smiled and shrugged, letting go of him, “Sure, if you want. D’you want any more food, or drink, maybe?”

Louis shook his head, already halfway in the master bedroom. Nodding to himself, Harry followed him and they made their way back to the balcony, Louis waiting until Harry sat down to sit in his lap.

Harry’s arms wrapped around Louis’ middle, his chin resting on his shoulder, just like before. Noticing the food still on the table, cold, Louis picked up a piece of cheese and started nibbling on it. Silence grew between them again, Harry having moved his head so his lips rested against Louis’ shoulder, instead of his chin, Louis taken by the view of the city before him.

Harry could not stop breathing in the smell of Louis, fascinated by its mixing with the familiar smell of his shirt, and how it made him feel, how it made Louis feel so steady, so constant, as if he had not met him a day ago, but known him for months - years, even.

Come to think of it, he really did feel as if he had known Louis for years. He voiced his thought a moment later.  
                   “You know what, Louis,” he said, forcibly lifting his head, “It’s crazy to think I didn’t know you, last week, for example. I feel like, like I’ve known you all my life, to be honest.”  
Louis turned his head, slightly, so he could see Harry. He smiled.  
               “I feel like that too, yeah. I can’t imagine being without you right now-” he began, but cut himself off, realising he had maybe given away more information than planned. Harry only smiled, nosing his shoulder.  
               “Naah,” he mumbled, squeezing Louis tightly, “Don’t even wanna think about that.”

Louis giggled at that, resting his head back against Harry’s.  
They sat in silence for another long while, watching the birds that appeared out of nowhere, to circle around a house in the distance.

               “I feel like-” Harry began, but shook his head then, starting over. “No, you know what? I have this friend,” – he made a pause, waiting until Louis hummed, indicating he was listening – “He makes movies; nothing like, in the cinema or anything, but just stuff for uni, you know. I should have him make a movie about us.”  
Louis turned to him, face unreadable. He hummed in approval, nodding after turning back to the horizon.  
               “A great movie, it would be, don’t you think?” Harry asked, but Louis just kept nodding.

He had lost his words, he soon consciously realised, for those threatening to burst from his lips were too big, too grave, and he did not dare open his mouth in fear of them. Harry seemed content with his silence, though, resting his head on his shoulder again, squeezing his stomach where his arms wound around it.

Louis sighed after a while, picking up a second piece of cheese to nibble on, ripping off edges and feeding them to Harry, still wordless. Harry began to hum and Louis recognised the song as the one from before. When the lyrics Harry had sung to him came, he joined, and though neither of them said anything, they both knew what the other one was thinking.

Time passed, minutes or hours they had no way of knowing, and their hums as well as the calls of the birds had quieted down, exchanged for the city hubbub of early morning, forming slowly into late morning.  
                   “I think,” Louis spoke up, still wary of his tongue and its powers to possibly ruin everything, “I’ve a feeling soon enough we’ve known each other for a whole day.”  
Harry skewed his eyes, thinking, before smiling, his eyes widening.  
                   “You’re right!” he spoke, voice suddenly so loud in the everlasting silence between them.

A moment later, he smirked, resting his temple, now, on Louis’ shoulder.  
                   “The first thing I thought, when I saw you, you know, was that I was really lucky. Like, really, really lucky.”  
Louis frowned, “How come?”  
                   “The seats next to you, right, were the only free ones. And c’mon, look at how cute you are!”  
Louis giggled, then, back hunching over himself, but Harry pulled him closer, not allowing him away from the praise.  
                   “You are, too, though,” Louis murmured a moment later, turning in Harry’s lap to better look at him. Harry rolled his eyes.

Louis rested his head on Harry’s, Harry arching up at the touch so his lips touched Louis’ skin. He wondered, for a moment, if he should have told Louis he was not just cute, but also the most beautiful thing Harry had ever seen. But it was too late now, Louis had already slipped back to his silent world, staring at the horizon from a different side, taken by the fresh view.

Louis was thinking. He was thinking of his family, again, unaware of his emotions, but realising he probably should call, at some point. Because, he realised, his trip away from home would soon be over, for all he had needed, the new feelings, new setting, new plot to his story, had been achieved, and it was time for the movie to end and to get back home from fairyland.

He thought of Harry, then, eyes stuck on the distant-most clouds, buttery yellow thanks to the sun desperately pushing through them. He thought of him, puzzling over whether Harry would be a creature from the fairyland, who the hero of the story loses, who ends up being only the author’s minion in the hero’s character development, or the co-hero, with whom he would be inseparable for the rest of his days.

Partially, because no matter what, he could not figure out, and partially to see if Harry would even understand, he asked.  
                   “Harry,” –he made a long pause, thunderstruck once more by the realisation this was his life, this was happening- “D’you think, if this is fairyland and I’m the kid who’s wandered into it and will have to return to his boring, grey home soon: do you think you’re someone who has to stay in the fairyland, someone I met along the way, but have to lose, or the other hero, the one that I’ve been with through everything, the one I never say goodbye to, ever again?”

Once he finished, he realised he had managed to let go of those big, frightening words from before through his monologue now, without actually saying them. He smiled, waiting for Harry’s reply.  
                    “I think,” Harry began, “I think- I think I’m supposed to be the one that stays behind, but I’m gonna make damn sure I don’t.”  
Louis’ breath was hitched, his face white.  
               “And I won’t, Louis, I won’t leave you,” Harry finally finished.  
Louis closed his eyes, breathing in slowly, smelling the humid air, and turned his head, opening his eyes again to Harry, blinking up at him.  
               “I won’t,” he repeated, and Louis leaned down to kiss him.

Against his lips, Louis felt Harry hum those words from the song again, and although Louis knew they were the wrong lyrics, not those the author had written, he knew, also, the author had got them wrong, not Harry.

He knew, too, that he had to call his family, he had to go home. He knew that nothing would ever be like this again, that a day ago everything had been different. He knew that he would go back to school and have to lie, unable to tell anyone of these hours, just like the children after returning from fairyland.  
He knew that in reality, he still knew nothing. Except for one thing.  
He knew that this was not the end, but only, only just the beginning. 

One by one, the houses around them exploded until only theirs remained, the two of them completely alone despite the whole world, just like a day ago, when the beginning began.

_Just Louis, and his lover, so entwined._

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank You for coming all this way 'till the end. I hope You did as I so kindly asked You to in the beginning and enjoyed my story. Comments, kudos, and bookmarks really do mean the world to me, so please, if You find the story worthy of it, leave me a little message.
> 
> Thank You so much. If You'd like to get to know me better, [here's my tumblr](http://guccifloral.tumblr.com/).  
> :)


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